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Class ^__a_^.-^J_J_ 

Book ^t _. 



THE CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY OF SONG 



THE CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY OF SONG 

GATHERED FROM THE CHRISTIAN 
POETRY OF ALL AGES 



BY 

JOHN HENRY BURN 

B.D., F.R.S.E. 



NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

31 West Twenty-third Street 

1907 






or 



PREFACE 

IT has fallen to my lot, during the last decade, to 
usher into the world a considerable number of 
books on various subjects. Throughout the whole 
of that period, the volume which I now commit to 
the press has been in my mind, and scarcely a 
month has passed without some thought being 
bestowed on its contents. 

I have aimed at producing a book which may 
be acceptable to Church-people of all shades of 
opinion. The longer I live, the more trivial do 
those party-cries appear, which seem to some to 
be of such moment that they can scarcely recog- 
nize as brethren those who do not utter their own 
particular shibboleth. It is my profound convic- 
tion that the time has come for insisting, above all 
things, upon the secondary importance of all ques- 
tions which lie outside the scope of the Catholic 
Creeds. Truth is so many-sided that no man 
living has sufficient intellectual power to grasp 
more than a tiny fragment of it ; yet its essence, 
thank God, is of such a nature, that no man who 
is really in earnest need despair of being able to 
comprehend all that is necessary for keeping his 
soul in the " state of salvation " — that is, in a sound 
and healthy condition. 

Much may be done, in the way of widening 

and deepening one's theological conceptions, by 

cultivating the poetic faculty. The poets are, in 

fact the greatest interpreters of Christianity, which 

b 



vi CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

is a religion of the emotions even more than of 
the intellect. One of the most serious mistakes 
made at what is called " the Reformation," was 
that of appealing to the intellect rather than the 
emotions, and so reversing the proper order of 
things. From this fundamental error untold mis- 
chief has ensued, and the Church must continue 
to suffer and be crippled in her resources so long 
as she submits to the domination of the head over 
the heart. I yield to none in my love of learning, 
but wisdom is better than knowledge, and wisdom 
can only be acquired by the education of one's 
whole being — by the training of the spirit as well 
as the furnishing of the mind. If this little book 
should be the means of helping some one, here 
and there, to see further into the deep things of 
God, and, as a consequence, to look with a more 
tolerant eye on those whose angle of vision is in 
some or even in many respects different from his 
own, I should feel abundantly recompensed for 
the time and labour spent on its compilation. 

It only remains for me to tender my cordial 
thanks to authors and publishers who have kindly 
allowed me to enrich these pages with copyright 
poems ; and, in this connexion, I desire to mention 
with particular gratitude the great help derived 
from "The Church's Year," by the Rev. G. T. S. 
Farquhar, M.A., Canon and Precentor of Perth 
Cathedral. 

J. H. B. 

Ballater Parsonage 
Aberdeenshire 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND 
POEMS 



Adams, Sarah F. page 

hallowed memories of the past . . . . i86 

Aid6, Hamilton 

1 lately talked with one who strove . . . 217 

Alexander, Cecil Frances 

Blessed were they who, in the days of old . . 398 

Come to our joyous marriage feast .... 53 

He is risen, He is risen ...... 153 

If hasty hand or bitter tongue .... 132 

Jerusalem, why are thy voices dumb . . . 400 

The flower that in the lowly vale .... 60 

There are no little things on earth .... 250 

There's many a happy household band . . . 417 

The sunset falls on Isaac's tent . . . . 120 

The waving fields of yellow corn .... 74 

The wise men to Thy cradle-throne ... 44 

Through many a far and foreign land . . . 176 

We seek a land of more delight .... 276 

We see the leaves fall withered from the trees . 80 

We walk amid a world of beauteous things , . 320 

Alexander, William (Earl of Stirling) 

The stately heavens, which glory doth array . . 91 

Alford, Henry 

I saw two women weeping by the tomb . . . 151 

Lift high the song of praise 415 

Barbauld, Anna Letitia 

Life ! I know not what thou art ... . 59 

Barton, Bernard 

I walked the fields at morning's prime . . . 267 

Woman of pure and heaven-born fame . . . 298 

Baynes, Robert Hall 

How long and deep the shadows of our Lent . no 

vii 



viii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

PAGE 

Beaumont, Sir John 

Sweet hope is soveraigne comfort of our life . . 315 

Bethune, George W. 

blessed Jesus ! when I see Thee bending . . 148 

Blackburne, Thomas 

Awake, thou wintry earth , . . . . 154 

Blenkinsopp, Edwin L. - 

The Tree of Life in Eden stood .... 96 

Blew, W. J. 

All hail, thou night, than day more bright . . 30 

BONAR, HoRATIUS 

Autumn has come at last 309 

1 ask a perfect creed ...... 52 

I walk as one who knows that he is treading . . 261 

Light of the better morning 164 

Show me the tears, the tears of tender love . . 285 

Sorrow weeps ........ 143 

Sower Divine ........ 289 

The world is sick, and yet not unto death . . 18 

'Tis first the true and then the beautiful . . . 255 

What a world with all its sorrows .... 202 



BoRTHwiCK, Jane 

Breezes of spring, all earth to life awaking 
Give us Thy blessed peace, God of all might 

He leads us on 

How blessed, from the bonds of sin 

How long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow 

Jesus, still lead on . 

Oh sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke 

The Lord shall come in dead of night . 



193 

365 

76 

411 

3 

136 

326 

27 



BowRiNG, Sir John 

Carry me. Babe, to Bethlehem now . . . 37 

In the Apocalypse sublime ..... 370 

Spring is but another birth ..... 163 

Brevior, Thomas 

All things a prophecy contain .... 257 

Bronte, Charlotte 

Life, believe, is not a dream 265 

Brown, Tom L. 

Oh, bright and happy Olivet 373 

Browne, Simon 

Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove .... 301 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS ix 



Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 
Since without Thee we do no good 

Bryant, William Cullen 

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away 
Oh, deem not they are blest alone . 

Burns, James Drummond 

Hushed was the evening hymn 

Campbell, Thomas 

The more we live, more brief appear 
When Jordan hushed his waters still 

Carey, Patrick 

Open thyself, and then look in . . . 

Carpenter, William Boyd 

Christ, Who our weak flesh didst wear . 

Caswall, Edward 

Oh, weak are my best thoughts and poor 
Sleep, Holy Babe . . . . . 
Why should we vex our foolish minds 

Charles, Elizabeth Rundle 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? haste its scanty 
drops to share ...... 

Thou art the Way ...... 

What, what is tried in the fires of God . 
When scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride 

Charlton, William Henry 

Say, from what unknown source, mysterious Nile 

Chatterton, Thomas 

O God, Whose thunder shakes the sky . 

Chester, Greville J. 

In thorny thickets below the sweetest roses . 

Christian Lyrics 

Count not the days that have idly flown . 

Clinch, Joseph H. 

Thousands completely fed .... 

Clough, Arthur Hugh 

O only source of all our light and life 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 

My Maker ! of Thy power the trace 

CONDER, JOSIAH 

How shall I follow Him I serve . . 
Oh, give thanks to Him that made 
Oh show me not my Saviour dying . 



PAGE 

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302 

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X CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



CowPER, William 

All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades ' 

God never meant that man should scale the heavens 

It happened on a solemn eventide . 

Now theirs w^as converse such as it behoves . 

When darkness long has veil'd my mind 

CoxE, Arthur Cleveland . 
Saviour, sprinkle many nations 
See how yon little lark is borne 
Who is this, with garments gory. . 

Craik, D. M. Muloch 

Silence ! though the flames arise and quiver . 

Crashaw, Richard 

Mercy, my Judge, mercy, I cry 

Crewdson, Jane 

Oh for the peace which floweth as a river 

Croly, George 

Spirit of God I descend upon my heart , 

Dale, Thomas 

The voice of God was mighty when it brake . 

Dana, Richard Henry 

Tho' nothing once, and born but yesterday 

Davies, Sir John 

And though some impious wits do questions move 

Deck, J. G. 

Jesus, we rest in Thee 

De Vere, Sir Aubrey 

Three worlds there are . 

Dix, William Chatterton 

Lead us aside, we would not ever stay 
Rahel weeping for her children 

Doane, George Washington 

Fling out the banner ! let it float 

Drummond, William Hamilton 

Come let us sound her praise abroad 

Drury, Anna H. 

He grew in wisdom .... 
What earth appeared to angel eyes 

Dryden, John 

Creator Spirit, by Whose aid . 



205 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xi 



Edmeston, James 

Swords of fire around us play .... 

Elliott, Charlotte 

O Thou, the contrite sinner's Friend 

Emmet, John 

We cannot stay, said the winter stars 

Faber, Frederick William 

Ah ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray . 

Faith of our fathers ! Hving still 

Mother ! with us the Lord doth bide 

Now are the days of humblest prayer 

The days of old were days of might 

There is a Sabbath won for us . . . 

To be thought ill of, worse than we deserve . 

Workman of God ! oh lose not heart 

Farquhar, George Taylor Shillito 
Behold the Sun from eastern gloom arise 
For message of the Written Word 
How many a Grecian youth of old . 
Jairus knew it now ...... 

Lo, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on high 
" Look, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire 
Lord, through infirmity, which lay outspread 
Not as a fallen stone 

worshipper, who at the break of morn 
September's woods are clothed in darker green 
Skirting the azure of the summer sky 

Spirit, exiled long from earth . . 

What mighty name did the whole earth adore 

Wide the compass of the world 

Farrar, Frederick William 

On the Cross we saw Him dying . . 

Fellon, John Brooks 

Sent from the ark, the dove, with timid flight 

FisK, George 

Their bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea 

Fletcher, John William 

Time is a prince whose resistless sway ,. 

Ford, Charles Lawrence 

1 heard the voice of harpers, harping sweetly 
We all are in one school .... 

FosBERY, Thomas Vincent 

Swift o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps 



PAGE 

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288 

268 

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415 
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7 

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84 



xii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



Grahame, James 

O Nature ! all thy seasons please the eye . . 266 
Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds . • 293 

Greg, Samuel 

" Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill . . 281 

Greville, Fulke (Lord Brooke) 

Eternal Truth, almighty ,_ infinite .... 78 

Grinfield, Thomas 

When man to Godlike being sprung . . . 386 

Gurney, Archer 

Come, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly .... 30 

Evermore their lands the Angel hosts are singing . 230 

Hall, Joseph 

Lord, what am I? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing 313 

Hart, Josiah 

Gird thy loins up. Christian soldier . , . 361 

Harvey, Christopher 

Love hath taught me to obey .... 270 

Hastings, Lady Flora 

In every place, in every hour ..... 310 

Havergal, William Henry 

Widely midst the slumbering nations . . . 342 

Heber, Reginald 

' ' Who yonder on the desert heath .... 306 

Hemans, Felicia 

O Thou ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ... 68 

Herbert, George 

As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod . 358 
How should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should my 

rhymes ........ 376 

If as a flower doth spread and die .... 82 

Lord, Thou art mine, and I am Thine . . . 364 

Of what an easy quick access ..... 70 

Oh Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart . . 9 

O Sacred Providence, Who from end to end . . 385 

Teach me, my God and King .... 271 

Welcome, dear feast of Lent ..... 104 

When God at first made man .... 78 

Herrick, Robert 

Is this a fast, to keep ...... 129 

Hopkins, T. Marsland 

And is it so that Nature stints her praise . . 314 

From out all Nature is one common voice . . 88 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xiii 



How, William Walsham 

The Poet scanned with mighty awe 

HowiTT, Mary 

God might have made the earth bring forth 

HuRN, William 

There is a River, deep and broad . 

Irons, William Josiah 

' ' He loved His own unto the end . 

Jackson, E. D. 

Charming flowers ! your day is come 

Johnson, Samuel 

The Will Divine that woke a waiting time 
Where then shall hope and fear their objects find 

Jonson, Ben 

Good and great God ! Can I not think of Thee 
Heare me, O God 

Keble, John 

As hart pants high for gushing rills 

Fear not, for He hath sworn .... 

Judge me, and plead my cause, O God . 

Mercy and Truth my song would be 

My heart was glad to hear their call 

Nay, but these are breezes bright . 

Lord, our Lord, in all the earth . 
Spirit of Christ ! Thy grace be given 
Therefore to Thee I musing turn 

When is Communion nearest .... 

Ken, Thomas 

My God, to keep my heart .... 
Soul, when your flesh dissolves to dust . 

KiNLOCH, Lord 

Christ had two several wrongs to bear . 

Clearly I see 

Fall not out upon the way .... 

1 hold a joy, with which I feel 

I sought for Wisdom in the morning time . . 

It is not Heaven alone 

Throw wide the gate, my heart 

'Tis not the temple's shrine .... 

'Tis not the whirlwind o'er our fair fields sweeping 

To Thy temple. Lord, or table 

View not forms with heedless scorn 

Watchman, what of the night . . • . 

Why art Thou not, O Saviour, here 



PAGE 

233 
171 
130 
182 
244 



399 
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103 
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56 
128 

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"5 
338 



339 
340 
387 
211 

45 
203 
2 
353 
297 
290 
269 

28 
161 



xiv CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



Knollis, F. M. 

There is no night in Heaven 413 

Kynaston, Herbert 

Spirit, soul and body's union ..... 215 

Leeson, Jane E. 

Yea, watch and wait a little while .... 393 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase .... 79 

Longfellow, Samuel 

Holy Spirit, Truth Divine ..... 208 

Lynch, Thomas Toke 

Gracious Spirit, dwell with me .... 207 

How often on a morning bright .... 'j'j 

In silence mighty things are wrought . . . 273 

Irresolute, I stand perplext ..... 54 

Look up ; the rainy heavens withdraw . . . 181 

Not far from surf and wave ..... 67 

Oft when of God we ask ...... 234 

Oh, were I ever what I am sometimes . . . 366 

The Pharisee informed the Lord .... 291 

The sufferer had been heard to say ... 61 

What tears are these that flow so fast . . . 409 



Lyra Apostolica 

Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain . . . 391 

Lyra Germanica 

Most High and Holy Trinity ..... 213 

Now take my heart and all that is in me . . 50 

What had I been if Thou wert not .... 355 

Ye heavens, oh haste your dews to shed . . . 390 

Lyte, Henry Francis 

Dark was my lot, and long it spurned . . . 240 

Macduff, John Ross 

Christ is coming ! let creation .... 26 

Mackay, Charles 

O Piety ! O heavenly Piety 344 

Mant, Richard 

Hark ! through the lonely waste .... 16 

" Night flies before the orient morning ... 48 

There is a dwelling-place above .... 286 

Matson, W. F. 

Though clouds be dark ...... 126 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xv 



Milton, John 

Blest pair of sirens, pledges of Heaven s joy . 

This is true glory and renown, when God 

Ye flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright 

MoNSELL, John S. B. 

Awake, glad soul ! awake ! awake . 
Erst in Eden's happy garden . 
God bless the calm and holy cheer . 
" God is Love," the Heavens tell it 
Hours, and days, and months, and years 
Jesus ! gentle Sufferer, say 
Jesus ! my loving Lord, I know 
Lord ! how oft shall I forgive . 
So Matthew left his golden gains . 
This day the Church commemorates 

Montgomery, James 

Night turns to day when sullen darkness lowers 
The God of Nature and of Grace . 

Montgomery, Robert 

Priests of the Lord— let Judas warn them well 
Saint James was in the path of toil . 
The glorious Sun no man can see . 
Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours. 
What men call Nature is a Thought Divine 
Ye quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright 

Moore, Thomas 

Oh ! Thou that driest the mourner's tear 
The turf shall be my fragrant shrine 

More, Hannah 

Since trifles make the sum of human things . 

Moultrie, John 

Meek to suffer, strong to save 

Muhlenberg, William Augustus 
King of kings, and wilt Thou deign 
Since o'er Thy footstool here below 

Nevin, Edwin H. 

O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! the home of the blest 

Newman, John Henry 

When Royal Truth, released from mortal throes 

Newton, John 

If Solomon for wisdom prayed 

My soul once had its plenteous years 



356 
262 

41 

152 

94 

I 

220 

42 

ISO 
140 

369 
412 
407 



350 
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401 

410 

II 

359 
87 
92 

362 
89 

334 
404 

196 
90 

173 
160 



272 
131 



xvi CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



Noel, C. M. 

All around the rolling world, both night and day . 
When evening clouds hang clustering round the sun 

NoRRis, Alfred 

I would not ask Thee that my days . . 

NoRRis, John 

How long, great Godj how long must I . 
Long have I view'd, long have I thought 

Palmer, Ebenezer 

If we scan . . . " . 

Like Israel's king, oft have I too received 

'Neath the full beamings of an orient sky^ 

Palmer, Ray 

Jesus, these eyes have never seen . . . . 

Parnell, Thomas 

One in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine 

Peat, John 

How beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way 

PoLLOK, Robert 

" Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy," 
This Book, this holy Book — on every line 

Pope, Alexander 

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate 
Procter, Adelaide Anne 

Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her 

Fret not, poor soul 

I think if thou couldst know .... 

Judge not ; the workings of his brain 

Let me count my treasures , . . . 

Let thy gold be cast in the furnace . 

My God, I thank Thee, Who hast made 

Nothing resting in its own completeness 

One by one the sands are flowing . 

See the rivers flowing ..... 

Strive ; yet I do not promise .... 

" What is Life, Father ? " .... 
Pyper, Mary 

Not as He was, a houseless stranger 
Quarles, Francis 

Alas ! my torments ; my distracted fears 

My soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage 

The world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain 

True honour bides at home, and takes delight 

What joyful harvester did ere obtain 



PAGE 

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224 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xvii 



PAGE 

Reed, Andrew 

Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers .... 378 

Robert Second, King of France 

Holy Spirit, come, we pray ., . . . . 210 

Robinson, E. 

One baptism, and one faith 332 

Rosenroth, K. von 

Dayspring of Eternity 5 

RossE, Alexander 

The pilot's skill how can we know . . . . 118 

RossETTi, Christina Georgina 

I bore with thee long weary days and nights . . 137 

Russell, Alexander Tozer 

To Him Who for our sins was slairi . . . 156 

Scott, Sir Walter 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved .... 167 

Sears, Edmund Hamilton 

It came upon the midnight clear .... 39 

O bright Ideals, how ye shine .... 225 

Sewell, William 

We do not dread the darkest night . . . 381 

Sigourney, Lydia Huntley 

Man hath a voice severe 245 

Watcher, who watch'st by the bed of pain . . 392 

Smith, Gilbert N. 

Source of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul . . 172 

Southern, Philip 

" Go thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord Who speaks . 368 

Southwell, Robert 

The lopped tree in time may grow again . . 75 

Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn 

Come, Holy Spirit, from above .... 204 
He is gone — we heard Him say .... 195 

Steele, Anne 

Oh ! help me. Lord, to seek Thy face . . . 232 

Sterling, John 

When up to nightly skies we gaze .... 81 

Streatfeild, John 

Arise, my soul, the morning sun .... 337 
" God is my strength ! " Be this my shield . . 229 
Lord, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell . 345 



xviii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

PAGE 

SuRR, Elizabeth 

The blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath sun- 
light smiled 33 

Swain, Charles 

If thou hast lost a friend 258 

Taylor, Jeremy 

Lord ! come away ! _ 24 

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord 

Contemplate all this work of Time .... 374 

Oh yet we trust that somehow good , . . 395 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love . . . 363 
That which we dare invoke to bless . . . . 367 

The wish, that of the living whole . . . . 396 

Who loves not knowledge ? Who shall rail . . 384 

You say, but with no touch of scorn . . . 377 

TOMKINS, H. G. 

When across the inward thought .... 375 

Work while it is called to-day ..... 335 

ToNNA, Charlotte Elizabeth 

Soldier, go — but not to claim 354 

Tregelles, Samuel Prideaux 

Thou, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt . . . 138 

Trench, Richard Chenevix 

Fond heart, when learnest thou to say . . . 260 

I say to thee, do thou repeat ..... 341 

O blessing, wearing semblance of a curse . . 95 

This did not once so trouble me .... 274 

When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say . 190 

TuppER, Martin Farquhar 

The waves, the winds of Circumstance . . . 389 

TussER, Thomas 

Of God, to thy doings, a time there is sent . . 394 

To pray to God continually ..... 281 

Unknown 

An earnest, ardent will for good .... 333 

As one who, toiling up some lofty peak . . . 131 

Be thou content 73 

Boast of thine honours, wealth, and power . . 113 

Christian, did no one, thinkest thou, behold thee . 294 

Fire is not quench'd with fire ..... 62 

God doth not leave His own ..... loi 

Happy is he who at each gift of grace . . . 312 

" Have mercy on me, Lord ! " . . . . 117 

Here must the Christian onward press . . . ^3 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xix 



PAGE 

His eye toward the promised land .... 201 

In the wound of Thy Right Hand .... 146 

I stood and watched my ships go out . . . 349 

It is not heavy, agonizing woe .... 109 

Man is a busy thing, and he 107 

Not ashes on the head X13 

Not here, not here : not where the sparkling waters 241 

Nought see we here as yet in full perfection . . 99 

Rise ! for the day is passing ..... 351 

See what unbounded zeal and love .... 144 

Still evermore for some great strength we pray . 275 
There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and 

deep 336 

Though I am slow to trust Thee, Lord . . . 247 

Thy neighbour? it is he whom thou . . . 304 

"Tired"! Well, what of that .... 187 

Unanswered yet, the prayer your lips have pleaded 192 

What and if the Day is breaking .... 4 

What though we bear a heavy load . , . 119 
Why throbs this breast ? Why heave these piteous 

sighs 279 

Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord ... 29 

Vaughan, Henry 

Ah, what time wilt thou come .... 23 

As travellers, when the twilight's come . . . 127 

Lord, with what courage and delight . . . 162 

Still young and fine ! but what is still in view . 102 

Then give Thy saints ...... 318 

They are all gone into the world of light . . 343 

Weighing the steadfastness and state , . . 321 

When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave . 112 

Veitch, Sophie F. F. 

" Get thee hence, Satan ! " iii 

Waller, Edmund 

That early love of creatures, yet unmade . . 379 

Watts, Isaac 

Up to the hills I lift mine eyes . . . . 134 

Weld, H. Hastings 

Eternal Father ! God of peace .... 329 

Wesley, Charles 

A thousand oracles divine ..... 388 

Whitefield, George 

Shall I, for fear of feeble man .... 209 



XX CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



Whittier, John Greenleaf 

God called the nearest Angels, who dwell with Him 

above 

Immortal Love, for ever full .... 
Know well, my soul, God's hand controls 
To weary hearts, to mourning homes 

Williams, Isaac 

Away with sorrow's sigh ..... 
Crowned with immortal jubilee 
Father of nations ! what high thoughts endued 
From princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed 
How sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd . 
If thou art one whose cry is Liberty 
Into some wave, which heedless night-winds rock 
Jesu, the heart's own sv/eetness, and true light 
Me hath He called to love Him, me hath deign'd 
Now weary men are tending to their home 
Oh that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep 
" Our Father "—happy he that knows . 
Prayer is omnipotence descending, when 
The child leans on its parent's breast 
There is a time to fast .... 
Truth through the sacred volume hidden lies 
Why for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mom-n 

Willis, Nathaniel Parker 

They came on 



Wither, George 

Because the world might not pretend 

I should not care how hard my fortunes were 

Wordsworth, Christopher 

" Holy of Holies," awful name 
Thou bidd'st us " visit in distress . 

WoTTON, Sir Henry 

How happy is he born and taught . 

WRATislaw, Albert Henry 

Love hath descended from His Throne on high 

Wynne, Shirley 

The time is short 



Young, Edward 

And feel I, Death, no joy from thought of thee 



236 
221 

170 

IS 

38 

406 
102 
43 
251 
380 

125 

55 
327 
352 
397 
216 
287 
277 
116 

12 
iSS 

324 

22 
71 

141 
199 

278 



13 

64 



THE CHURCHMAN'S 
TREASURY OF SONG 

THE SEASON OF ADVENT 

GOD bless the calm and holy cheer 
That ushers in the Christian Year ; 
And, whatsoe'er of gloom or shade, 
Season or sorrow may have made, 
Lifts us, with its mysterious power, 
Out of the dark and dying hour, 
Into the lights which ever play 
Round children of th' Eternal Day. 

Blest Advent of our ling'ring Lord ! 
How high the hope, how sure the word. 
That thus, with every year's return. 
Make our dull hearts within us burn 
For that long sought and promised Day, 
When "Heaven and Earth shall pass away," 
And Christ from highest Heav'ns shall come, 
To take His waiting people home. 

Since childhood's early hours, our eyes 
Have watch'd the east for reddening skies ; 
Year after year has Advent brought 
Us nearer to the Prize we sought ; 
But still it lingers ; — O that we 
Were more prepared to welcome Thee ; 
Thine Advent, with its Angel throng, -' 
Would not be tarrying, Lord, so J.'ong. 

John S. E. Monsell 

A I 

/ 

( 



2 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

THE FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT 

THROW wide the gate, my heart, and give thy 
Lord 
A welcome meet ; 
Take all thy palms, thine homage to afford, 
Laid at His feet : 
Forth every wish and thought 
To meet the Christ be brought ; 
And song, of highest note, His glad arrival greet. 

He cometh, meek and lowly, as of old 

In prophet's view ; 
Haste to His path ; and all in Him foretold, 
Thou'lt find as true : 
With love of childlike glow, 
On Christ attendant go ; 
And childhood's hymns the faith of childhood's 
time renew. 

Thy Saviour on the height above had wept. 

Viewing thy sin : 
Yet onward still His faithful journey kept, 
Thy peace to win : 
Now, with salvation nigh. 
To share His triumph hie ; 
And up to Zion's dome thy course with Christ 
begin. 

Hosanna! blest be He, Who comes to save. 

In God's great Name : 
All thibjgr^s on earth, e'en stones which mark the 
grave, 

Givffi loud acclaim. 



\ 



FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT 3 

Lord, in this heart of mine 
Enter, as God's own shrine, 
From which Thy holy scourge all base defilements 
drave. 

Lord Kinloch 



WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY 
IN ADVENT 

MONDAY 

HOW long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow. 
Must Thy poor people tread the pilgrim 
road. 
Mourning to-day and fearing for to-morrow, — 
Finding no place of rest, no sure abode ? — 

Sighing o'er faded flowers and cisterns broken ; 

Gazing on setting suns, that rise no more ; 
Listening to sad farewells, and last words spoken 

By loved ones leaving us on Jordan's shore ! 

How long, through snares of error and temptation, 
Shall noblest spirits stumble on their way? 

How long, through darkening storms of tribulation, 
Must we press forward to eternal day ? 

How long shall passing faults and trifles sever 
Hearts that have known affection's holy tie ? 

When shall the slanderer's tale be hushed for 
ever. 
And brethren see in all things eye to eye ? 



4 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

How long shall last the night of toil and sadness, 

The midnight hour of gloomy doubts and fears ? 
When shall it dawn, that promised morn of glad- 
ness, 
When Thine own hand shall wipe away our 
tears? 

How long, O Lord ? Our hearts are sad and weary, 
Our voices join the whole creation's groan ; 

With eager gaze we watch for Thine appearing. 
When wilt Thou come again, and claim Thine 
own? 

Return ! return ! come in Thy power and glory. 
With all Thy risen Saints and Angel throng; 

Bring to a close Time's strange, mysterious story. 
How long dost Thou delay, — O Lord, how long ? 

Jane Borthwick 



TUESDAY 

\1 ^HAT and if the Day is breaking, 
^ * Day so long by seers foretold, 
When, from slumbers deep awaking, 
Saints their Saviour shall behold ; 
Are you ready ? are you ready ? 
Or is still your bosom cold ? 

Is it cold to Him Who sought thee 

In this wilderness forlorn? 
Cold to Him, the Friend Who bought thee, 

Nor complained of nail or thorn ? 
Are you ready ? are you ready ? 

Or do you His yearning scorn ? 



FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT 

Are you clothed in bridal raiment, 

Woven by anointed hands ; 
Given thee without thy payment, 

Pledge of Love's unwearied hands ? 
Are you ready ? are you ready ? 

See the portal open stands. 

Are you washt in holy water, 

You so long by sin defiled? 
Should He say, " My son," " My daughter," 

Can you say, " Behold Thy child " ? 
Are you ready ? are you ready ? 
Thus by Jesus to be styled ? 

Are you ready for the meeting 

With the Saviour in the air ? 
Longing for that holy greeting 

With the ransomed myriads there ? 
If not ready, if not ready. 
Oh ! for that great Day prepare ! 



WEDNESDAY 

DAYSPRING of Eternity, 
Dawn on us at morning-tide ; 
Light from light's exhaustless sea. 
Never more Thy radiance hide j 
But dispel with glorious might 
All our night. 

Let the morning dew of love 

On our sleeping conscience rain ; 

Gentle comfort from above 

Flow through life's long parched plain ; 

Water daily us Thy flock 
From the rock. 



6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Let the glow of love destroy 
Cold obedience faintly given ; 

Wake our hearts to strength and joy 
With the flushing eastern heaven ; 

Let us truly rise ere yet 
Life hath set. 

Brightest star of eastern skies, 

Let that final morn appear, 
When our bodies too shall rise 

Free from all that pain'd them here, 
Strong their joyful course to run 
As the sun. 

To yon world be Thou our light, 
O Thou glorious Sun of grace ; 

Lead us through the tearful night 
To yon fair and blessed place. 

Where to joy that never dies 
We shall rise. 

K. VON ROSENROTH 



THURSDAY 

COUNT not the days that have idly flown, 
The years that were vainly spent ; 
Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, 
When thy spirit stands before the Throne, 
To account for the talents lent. 

But number the hours redeemed from sin, 

The moments employed for Heaven ; 
Oh ! few and evil thy days have been, 
Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, 
For a nobler purpose given. 



FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT 

Will the shade go back on thy dial-plate ? 

Will thy sun stand still on his way ? 
Both hasten on ; and thy spirit's fate 
Rests on the point of life's little date : 

Then live while 'tis called to-day. 

Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, 

As they lessen, in value rise : 
Oh ! rouse thee and live ! nor deem man's age 
Stands in the length of his pilgrimage, 

But in days that are truly wise. 

Christian Lyrics 



FRIDAY 

THEIR bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea. 
The storms are hush'd, and all goes merrily — 
Grace at the helm, and Virtue at the prow, 
Wafted by gales from Heav'n they onward go. 

And whither bound ? Oh, see ye not that light 
Which streams across the waters, rich and bright ? 
It tells of fragrant, palmy regions, where 
Love sits enthroned to greet His subjects there. 

Distant, yet near ; invisible, yet seen, 
Blest Land of Promise, lovely and serene. 
Where tempests come not, where no cross wind 

blows — 
The soul's safe refuge, and the heart's repose. 

The helm is right, and onward bounds the bark, 
Like as the arrow speeds toward the mark : 
Hear ye not voices borne on sunny wings, 
Telling Faith's children of all glorious things ? 



8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Of things that make us long to cleave the air 
With anxious speed, to be reposing there ? 
Oh, listen while the choral voices sound 
God's loving voice to all His children round. 

Blow on ye breezes, ay, let ocean roar, 
Till the blest crew be anchor'd on the shore ; 
Then in God's bright pavilion they shall be 
Enthroned as kings throughout eternity. 

George Fisk 



SATURDAY 

WHEN evening clouds hang clustering round 
the sun, 
And sad, sweet memories make my heart their 
prey, 
It swells again exultant at the thought 

Of that great Day, 

When Thou wilt come with clouds that shall have 
caught 
New and surpassing glories from Thy light ; 
The light that then shall rise for evermore, 

Nor sink in night. 

All Nature, that before seemed one deep dream 

Of beauty steeped in sorrow, now doth ring 
With earnest voices, of expectant joy, 

That call their King. 

O wounded but undying Love ! we feel 
. Thy veiled Presence is amongst us here : 
Unto the longing eyes that seek Thee now. 

Shine out more clear. 



SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 9 

Rule me, my Lord ! that love may be confirmed, 

By glad obedience, and by service due ; 
Let me be pliant underneath Thy hand, 

Meek, docile, true 
C. M. Noel. 



THE SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 

OH Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart 
Suck every letter, and a honey gain 
Precious for any grief in any part, 
To clear the breast, to mollify all pain. 
Thou art all health, health thriving till it make 
A full eternity ; thou art a mass 
Of strange delights, where we may wish and 
take. 
Ladies, look here ; this is the thankful glass 
That mends the looker's eyes, this is the well 
That washes what it shows. Who can endear 
Thy praise too much ? Thou art Heaven's lieger 
here, 
Working against the states of death and hell. 
Thou art joy's handsell : Heaven lies flat in 

thee, 
Subject to every mounter's bended knee. 

Oh that I knew how all thy lights combine, 

And the configurations of their glory ! 

Seeing not only how each verse doth shine, 
But all the constellations of the story. 
This verse marks that, and both do make a motion 

Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie. 

Then, as dispersed herbs do match a potion, 
These three make up some Christian's destiny. 



lo CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Such are thy secrets, which my Hfe makes good, 
And comments on thee : for in every thing 
Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring, 
And in another make me understood. 

Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do 

miss : 
This book of stars lights to eternal bliss. 

George Herbert 



WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY 
IN ADVENT 

MONDAY 

THIS Book, this holy Book — on every line 
Marked with the seal of high divinity, 
On every leaf bedewed with drops of love 
Divine, and with the eternal heraldry 
And signature of God Almighty stamped 
From first to last — this ray of sacred light, 
This lamp, from off the everlasting Throne, ' 
Mercy took down, and in the night of Time 
Stood, casting on the dark her gracious bow ; 
And evermore beseeching men, with tears 
And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live. 
And many to her voice gave ear, and read. 
Believed, obeyed ; and now, as the Amen, 
True, Faithful Witness swore, with snowy 

robes 
And branchy palms surround the Fount of Life, 
And drink the streams of immortality, 
For ever happy, and for ever young. 

Robert Pollok 



SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT ii 



TUESDAY 

'^PHE glorious Sun no man can see 
-^ Except his eye may sun-like be ; 

And thus the Bible is not understood, 
Unless a sympathy divine 
The heart attracts for truth divine, 

And love, not learning, prompt it to be good. 

But if they read with child-like awe, 
Diviner truths than Plato saw 

Adoring peasants on their knees discern ; 
While secrets, which were veiled of yore 
And Angels' study more and more 

The infant-scholars of the Spirit learn. 

Each Lesson, with maternal care 
Adjusted well for praise and prayer. 

Long may adoring hearts in love peruse ; 
Until, from sin and self made free. 
Our lives embodied Scripture be. 

And, when the Saviour calls, no cross refuse ! 

Holding His pierced Hands on high 

Before enthroned Deity, 
The God incarnate as our Priest prevails : 

Go, seek His interceding grace. 

And in the light of that blest Face 
Behold a sympathy, which never fails ! 

If, as we learn the truth, we live, 
True love to God the truth will give : 
Spirit Divine ! do Thou interpret all. 
Till God's Word with divine control 



12 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Reign like a soul within a soul, 
And prove us children when on God we call. 

Robert Montgomery 



WEDNESDAY 

TRUTH through the sacred volume hidden lies, 
And spreads from end to end her secret wing. 
Through ritual, type, and storied mysteries. 
From this or that, when Error points her sting. 
From all her holds, Truth's stern defences spring, 
And text to text the full accordance bears. 
Through every page the universal King, 
From Eden's loss unto the end of years, 
From east unto the west, the Son of Man appears. 



O Holy Truth, whene'er Thy voice is heard, 
A thousand echoes answer to the call ; 
Tho' oft inaudible Thy gentle word, 
While we regard not. Take me from the thrall 
Of passionate hopes, be Thou my all in all ; 
So may obedience lead me by the hand 
Into Thine inner shrine and secret hall. 
Thence hath Thy voice gone forth o'er sea and land, 
And all that voice may hear — but none can under- 
stand, 

Save the obedient. From both love and hate. 
Affections vile, low cares, and envy's blight. 
And controversial leanings and debate. 
Save me ! from earthy film my mental sight 
Purge Thou, make my whole body full of light ! 
So may my eyes from all things Truth convey, 



SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 13 

My ears in all Thy lessons read aright, 
My dull heart understand, and I obey, 
Following where'er Thy Church hath mark'd the 
ancient way. 

Isaac Williams 



THURSDAY 

THE time is short; 
Therefore with all thy might, 
Labour for God and Right. 
Pause not for heats and shadows of the day, 
Fail not for difficulties of the way : 
Be true, be pure, be strong ! 
Eternity is long. 

The time is short ; 
Sin, misery, and despair 
Darken the earth and air ; 
Therefore do thou with Heaven intercede. 
And for thy brethren, ere they perish, plead : 
Pray for the prayerless throng ! 
Eternity is long. 

The time is short ; 
Therefore, my brother, love ! 
Love always ! God above 
Is one with thee in this ; O take 
His crown of thorns, and thine own self for- 
sake ! 
Love, spite of pain and wrong ! 
Eternity is long. 

Shirley Wynne 



14 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



FRIDAY 

WHAT is Life, Father?" 
" A Battle, my child, 
Where the strongest lance may fail, 
Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, 

And the stoutest heart may quail. 
Where the foes are gathered on every hand 

And rest not day or night, 
And the feeble little ones must stand 
In the thickest of the fight." 

"What is Death, Father?" 

" The Rest, my child. 

When the strife and the toil are o'er ; 
The Angel of God, who, calm and mild, 

Says we need fight no more ; 
Who, driving away the demon band. 

Bids the din of the battle cease ; 
Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, 

And proclaims an eternal Peace." 



** Let me die, Father ! I tremble, and fear 
To yield in that terrible strife ! " 

" The crown must be won for Heaven, dear. 

In the battle-field of life ; 
My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, 

He loveth the weak and small ; 
The Angels of Heaven are on thy side. 

And God is over all ! " 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 15 



SATURDAY 

TO weary hearts, to mourning homes 
God's meekest Angel gently comes ; 
No power has he to banish pain, 
Or give us back our lost again. 
And yet in tenderest love our dear 
And heavenly Father sends him here. 

There's quiet in that Angel's glance, 

There's rest in his still countenance ! 

He mocks no grief with idle cheer, 

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear; 

But ills and woes he may not cure, 

He kindly trains us to endure. 

Angel of Patience ! sent to calm 
Our feverish brows with cooling palm ; 
To lay the storms of hope and fear, 
And reconcile life's smile and tear ; 
The throbs of wandering pride to still, 
And make our own our Father's will ! 

O thou who mournest on the way. 
With longings for the close of day ; 
He walks with thee, that Angel kind. 
And gently whispers " Be resigned " ; 
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell. 
The dear Lord ordereth all things well ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier 



i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



THE THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 



H 



ARK ! through the lonely waste, 

By foot of man unpaced, 
Prepare the way — a warning voice resounds ; 
Level the opposing hill, 
The hollow valley fill, 
Make straight the crooked, smooth the rugged 
grounds : 
Prepare a passage, form it plain and broad, 
And through the desert make a highway for our God. 

Thine, Baptist, was the cry, 
In ages long gone by. 
Heard in clear accents by the Prophet's ear ; 
As if 'twere thine to wait. 
And with imperial state 
Herald some Eastern monarch's proud career ; 
Who thus might march his host in full array. 
And speed through trackless wilds his unresisted way. 

But other task hadst thou 
Than lofty hills to bow, 
Make straight the crooked, the rough places plain : 
Thine was the harder part 
To smooth the human heart. 
The wilderness where sin had fixed his reign ; 
To make deceit his mazy wiles forego, 
Bring down high vaulting pride, and lay ambition 
low. 

Such, Baptist, was thy care, 
That no objection there 
Might check the progress of the King of kings ; 



THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 17 

But that a clear highway, 
Might welcome the array, 
Of Heavenly graces which His Presence brings ; 
And where Repentance had prepared the road, 
There Faith might enter in, and Love to man and 
God. 

Richard Manx 



WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY IN 
ADVENT 

MONDAY 

SPIRIT of Christ ! Thy grace be given 
To those who lead Thine host, that they | 

With might may wield the sword of Heaven, 
Thus strengthened on their weary way. 

Oft, as at morn or soothing eve, 

Over the Fount of Truth they lean, 
Their fading garland freshly weave 

Or fan them with Thine airs serene : — 

Spirit of Light and Truth ! to Thee 

We trust them in that musing hour. 
That they, with open heart and free, 

May teach Thy Word in all its power. 

When foemen watch their tents by night 

And mists hang thick o'er moor and fell. 
Spirit of Counsel and of Might, 

Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well. 



i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And O ! when worn and tired they sigh 
With that more fearful war within, 

When passion's storms are loud and high 
And, brooding o'er remembered sin, 

The heart dies down, O mightiest, then 
Come ever true, come ever near ; 

And wake their slumbering love again. 
Spirit of God's most holy Fear. 

John Keble 



T= 



TUESDAY 

'HE world is sick, and yet not unto death ; 
There is for it a day of health in store ; 
From lips of love there comes the heahng 
breath — 
The breath of Him Who all its sickness bore. 
And bids it rise to strength and beauty evermore. 



Evil still reigns ; and deep within we feel 

The fever and the palsy and the pain 
Of life's perpetual heart-aches, that reveal 

The rooted poison, which, from heart and 
brain. 
We labour to extract, but labour all in vain ! 

Our skill avails not ; ages come and go, 

Yet bring with them no respite and no cure ; 
The hidden wound, the sigh of pent-up woe. 
The sting we smother but must still endure, 
The worthless anodynes which no relief procure,— 



THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 19 

All these cry out for something more divine, 
Which the worst woes of earth may not 
withstand — 
Medicine that cannot fail, the oil and wine, 
The balm and myrrh, growth of no earthly 
land, 
And the all-skilful touch of the great Healer's 
hand. 

Man needs a prophet : Heavenly Prophet, 
speak, 
And teach him what he is too proud to hear. 
Man needs a priest: True Priest, Thy silence 
break, 
And speak the words of pardon in his ear. 
Man needs a king : O King of kings, at length in 
love appear. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



WEDNESDAY 

JUDGE not j the workings of his brain 
And of his heart thou canst not see ; 
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain. 
In God's pure light may only be 
A scar, brought from some well- won field. 
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. 

The look, the air, that frets thy sight. 

May be a token, that below 
The soul has closed in deadly fight. 

With some infernal fiery foe. 
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, 
And cast thee shuddering on thy face ! 



20 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The fall thou darest to despise — 
May be the Angel's slackened hand 

Has suffered it, that he may rise 
And take a firmer, surer stand ; 

Or, trusting less to earthly things, 

May hencefoTth learn to use his wings. 

And judge noiie lost ; but wait, and see, 
With hopeful pity, not disdain ; 

The depth of the abyss may be 
The measure of the height of pain 

And love and glory that may raise 

The soul to God in after days ! 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



THURSDAY 

THE days of old were days of might 
In forms of greatness moulded. 
And flowers of Heaven grew on the earth 

Within the Church unfolded : 
For grace fell fast as summer dew, 
And Saints to giant stature grew. 

But one by one the gifts are gone 

That in the Church resided. 
And gone the Spirit's living light 

That on her walls abided, 
When by our shrines He came to dwell 
In power and presence visible. 

A blight hath past upon the Church, 

Her summer hath departed, 
The chill of age is on her sons, 



THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 21 

The cold, and fearful-hearted ; 
And sad, amid neglect and scorn, 
Our Mother sits and weeps forlorn. 

Narrow and narrower still each year 

The holy circle groweth. 
And what the end of all shall be 

Nor man nor Angel knoweth : 
And so we wait and watch in fear ; — 
It may be that the Lord is near ! 

Frederick William Faber 



FRIDAY 

WHAT, what is tried in the fires of God ? 
And what are the fires that try ? — 
All, all is tried in the fires of God, 
And many the fires that try. 

And what is burnt in the fires of God ? — 

All but the fine, fine gold ; 
The treasures we ofier for praise and pride 

Or for pride and self withhold; 
And we^ as far as our souls are wrapt 

In the raiment that waxeth old. 

And when will the fires of God be lit ? — 

They are burning every day ; 
They are trying us all, within and without, 

The gold and the potter's clay. 

But what is lost in the fires of God ? — 

Nothing that is not dross ; 
No tiniest grain of the golden sands, 

Or wood of the true, true Cross j 



22 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

No smallest seed of the lowliest deed 

Of faith and hope and love, 
The precious things that abide earth's fires, 

And for ever abide, above. 

Yea, nought is lost in the fires of God 

That is not waste or dross — 
That we would not choose, could we see, to lose, 

And say, this was gain not loss. 

Elizabeth Rundle Charles 



SATURDAY 

BECAUSE the world might not pretend 
It knew not of Thy coming Day, 
Thou didst, O Christ, before Thee send 

A Crier to prepare Thy way : 
Thy Kingdom was the bliss he brought, 
Repentance was the way he taught. 

And that his voice might not alone 
Inform us what we should believe. 

His life declared what must be done, 
If Thee we purpose to receive : 

His life our pattern therefore make. 

That we the course he took may take. 

Let us not gad to pleasure's court. 
With fruitless toys to feed the mind ; 

Nor to that wilderness resort. 

Where reeds are shaken with the wind : 

But tread the path he trod before. 

That both a prophet was and more. 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 23 

Thus from the Crier let us learn, 
For Thee, sweet Jesus, to prepare, 

And others of their sins to warn, 
However for the same we fare : 

So Thou to us, and we to Thee, 

Shall when Thou comest welcome be. 

George Wither 



THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 

AH, what time wilt Thou come? when shall that 
cry. 
The Bridegroom^ s comings fill the sky ? 
Shall it in the evening run 
When our words and works are done ? 
Or will Thy all-surprising light 
Break at mid-night ? 
Or shall these early fragrant hours 

Unlock Thy bowers. 
And with their blush of light descry 
Thy locks crowned with eternity ? 
Indeed it is the only time 
That with Thy glory doth best chime ; 
All now are stirring, ev'ry field 

Full hymns doth yield ; 
The whole creation shakes off night. 
And for Thy shadow looks the light ; 
Stars now vanish without number, 
Sleepy planets set and slumber, 
The pursy clouds disband and scatter, 
All expect some sudden matter, 
Not one beam triumphs, but from far 

That morning star. 



24 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh at what time soever Thou 

Unknown to us the heavens wilt bow, 

And with Thy Angels in the van 

Descend to judge poor careless man, 

Grant I may not like puddle lie 

In a corrupt security ; 

Where if a traveller water crave 

He finds it dead, and in a grave. 

But as this restless vocal spring 

All day and night doth run and sing, 

And though here born, yet is acquainted 

Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; 

So let me all my busy age 

In Thy free services engage. 

Henry Vaughan 



WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY 
IN ADVENT 

MONDAY 

LORD ! come away ! 
Why dost Thou stay ? 
Thy road is ready; and Thy paths made 
straight 
With longing expectation wait 
The consecration of Thy beauteous feet ! 
Ride on triumphantly ! Behold we lay 

Our lusts and proud wills in Thy way ! 
Hosanna ! Welcome to our hearts ! Lord, here 
Thou hast a temple too ; and full as dear 
As that of Zion, and as full of sin : 
Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein : 









FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 25 

Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor ! 
Crucify them, that they may never more 
Profane that holy place 
Where Thou hast chose to set Thy face ! 
And then, if our stiff tongues shall be 
Mute in the praises of Thy Deity, 
The stones out of the temple- wall 

Shall cry aloud, and call 
Hosanna ! and Thy glorious footsteps greet ! 

Jeremy Taylor 



TUESDAY 

HOW many a Grecian youth of old, 
Preparing for the Isthmian plain, 
And driven by thirst of fame, was bold 

For discipline that he might gain 
An athlete's vigour well-controlled. 

And win the olive crown through pain ! 

But, when in time of wrinkled age 
His earlier force had ebbed away. 

And, closing now his pilgrimage, 

He viewed the wreath's forlorn decay, 

Then he at last grew wise to gauge 
The fleeting worth of glory's day. 

Therefore shall we give precious years 

And sacred energies of soul 
To win the world's resounding cheers 

And triumph at its vaunted goal ? 
Nay, such a guerdon calms no fears 

When Doomsday's awful thunders roll ! 



26 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But rather may the second sight 
Of Faith disclose the prize unseen, 

And urge us, led by its delight 
To tame the sins, that intervene, 

And fight with joy a nobler fight 
For crowns of never-fading green ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



WEDNESDAY 

CHRIST is coming ! let creation 
Bid her groans and travail cease; 
Let the glorious proclamation 

Hope restore, and faith increase — 
Maranatha ! 
Come, Thou blessed Prince of Peace ! 

Earth can now but tell the story 
Of Thy bitter Cross and pain ; 

She shall yet behold Thy glory 

When Thou comest back to reign — 
Maranatha ! 

Let each heart repeat the strain ! 

Though once cradled in a manger, 

Oft no pillow but the sod ; 
Here an alien and a stranger, 

Mocked of men, disowned of God — 
All creation 
Yet shall own Thy kingly rod. 

Long Thine exiles have been pining 
Far from rest, and home, and Thee; 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 27 

But, in heavenly vesture shining, 
Soon they shall Thy glory see — 
Maranatha ! 
Haste the joyous jubilee ! 

With that " blessed hope " before us, 

Let no harp remain unstrung ; 
Let the mighty Advent chorus 

Onward roll from tongue to tongue — 
Maranatha ! 
Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come ! 

John Ross Macduff 



THURSDAY 

THE Lord shall come in dead of night, 
When all is stillness round ; 
How happy they, whose lamps are bright, 
Who hail the trumpet's sound ! 

How blind and dead the world appears ! 

How deep her slumbers are ! 
Still dreaming that the day she fears 

Is distant and afar ! 

Who spends his day in holy toil. 

His talent used aright, 
That he may haste, with heavenly spoil, 

To meet his Lord that night ? 

Are ye arousing from their sleep, 

The saints who dare to rest. 
And calling every one to keep 

A watch more true and blest ? 



28 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Wake up, my heart and soul, anew. 
Let sleep no moment claim ; 

But hourly watch, as if ye knew 
This night the Master came. 

The Lord shall come in dead of night, 

When all is stillness round ; 
How happy they whose lamps are bright. 

Who hail the trumpet's sound ! 

Jane Borthwick 



FRIDAY 

WATCHMAN, what of the night? 
Clears not the darkened sky ? 
Come there no signs of light ? 

Is not the morning nigh ? 
" Darkness is all around ; 
Nowhere may light be found, 
Save from the watcher's fire ; 
Thou must again inquire." 

Watchman, what of the night ? 

Long I have lain awake, 
Yearning for fair and bright ; 
Finding no dawn to break. 
" Darkness begins to fly. 
Though but to watcher's eye : 
Still must the night-lamp burn ; 
Yet thou may'st soon return." 

Watchman, what of the night ? 

Peaceful is now my state ; 
Long as my God deems right. 

Quiet my soul will wait. 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 29 

" Up ! from the eastern hills, 
Rays are like gushing rills ; 
Up, from thy darkness spring ; 
Up, and thine anthem sing." 

Lord Kinloch 



SATURDAY 

YET if his majesty our sovereign lord 
Should of his own accord 
Friendly himself invite, 
And say " I'll be your guest to-morrow night," 
How should we stir ourselves, call and command 
All hands to work ! " Let no man idle stand. 
Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall. 
See they be fitted all ; 
Let there be room to eat, 
And order taken that there want no meat. 
See every sconce and candlestick made bright 
That without tapers they may give a light. 
Look to the presence : are the carpets spread. 
The dais o'er the head, 
The cushions in the chairs, 
And all the candles lighted on the stairs ? 
Perfume the chambers, and in any case _ 
Let each man give attendance in his place." 
Thus, if the king were coming would we do. 
And 'twere good reason too ; 
For 'tis a duteous thing 
To show all honour to an earthly king. 
And after all our travail and our cost. 
So he be pleased, to think no labour lost. 
But at the coming of the King of Heaven 
All's set at six and seven : 



30 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

We wallow in our sin, 
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. 
We entertain Him "always like a stranger, 
And as at first still lodge Him in the manger. 



CHRISTMAS EVE 

ALL hail, thou night, than day more bright, 
Through whose mysterious shade. 
In wondrous birth, arose on earth. 

From bosom of pure Maid, 
The Sun new-born, a Star of morn. 
Filling the world with light ! 

He Who alone, from Heaven's high Throne, 

Rules all, and doth restore 
To God's embrace man's fallen race, 

Lies on a cottage floor, 
Like Him that we, save poverty, 

Have nought to call our own. 

While o'er their sheep close watch they keep, 

Those shepherds first receive 
The heavenly call, that doth to all 

Great joy and gladness give, — 
The call from Heaven, to watchmen given 

That wake and never sleep. 

W. J. Blew 

CHRISTMAS DAY 

COME, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly ! 
Let your songs of gladness ring ! 
In a stable lies the Holy, 
In a manger rests the King : 



CHRISTMAS DAY 31 

See, in Mary's arms reposing, 

Christ by highest Heaven adored : 

Come ! your circle round Him closing, 
Pious hearts that love the Lord. 

Come, ye poor ! no pomp of station 

Robes the Child your hearts adore: 
He, the Lord of all salvation. 

Shares your want, is weak and poor : 
Oxen round about behold them, 

Rafters naked, cold, and bare : 
See ! the shepherds ! God has told them 

That the Prince of Life lies there. 

Come, ye children, blithe and merry ! 

This one Child your model make ; 
Christmas holly, leaf, and berry, 

All be prized for His dear sake : 
Come, ye gentle hearts and tender ! 

Come, ye spirits keen and bold ! 
All in all your homage render. 

Weak and mighty, young and old. 

High above a star is shining. 

And the Wise Men haste from far : 
Come, glad hearts, and spirits pining ! 

For you all has risen the Star. 
Let us bring our poor oblations, 

Thanks and love and faith and praise : 
Come, ye people ! come, ye nations ! 

All in ;all draw nigh to gaze. 

Hark ! the Heaven of heavens is ringing : 

Christ the Lord to man is born : 
Are not all our hearts, too, singing, 
. Welcome, welcome, Christmas morn ? 



32 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Still the Child, all power possessing, ) 

Smiles as through the ages past ; j 

And the song of Christmas-blessing j 

Sweetly sinks to rest at last. , 

Archer Gurney \ 



ST STEPHEN'S DAY 

SILENCE ! though the flames arise and quiver : 
Silence ! though the crowd howls on for ever, { 
Silence ! Through this fiery purgatory 
God is leading up a soul to glory. 

See, the white lips with no moans are trembling, 
Hate of foes or plaint of friends' dissembling ; 
If sighs come — his patient prayers outlive them, 
" Lord, these know not what they do. Forgive 
them I " 

Thirstier still the roaring flames are glowing ; 
Fainter in his ear the laughter growing ; 
Brief will last the fierce and fiery trial ; 
Angel welcomes drown the earth denial. 



Now the amorous death-fires, gleaming ruddy. 
Clasp him close. Down drops the quivering body. 
While through harmless flames ecstatic flying 
Shoots the beauteous soul. This, this is dying. 

Lo, the opening sky with splendour rifted ; 
Lo, the palm-branch for his hands uplifted ; 
Lo, the immortal chariot, cloud-descending, 
And its legion'd Angels close attending. 



1 



ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY 33 

Let his poor dust mingle with the embers, 
While the crowds sweep on and none remembers : 
Saints unnumber'd through the Infinite Glory, 
Praising God, recount the Martyr's story. 

D. M. MuLOCH Craik 



ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY 

THE blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath 
sunlight smiled, 
And murmuring washed the rocky shore of that 

lone island wild ; 
Where unto him " whom Jesus loved," such views 

sublime were given, 
That e'en the land of exile shone " the very gate 
of Heaven ! " 

He saw the radiant form of Him, upon Whose 

sorrowing breast, 
At the last supper's solemn feast his weary head 

found rest ; 
One " like unto the Son of Man," all glorious to 

behold. 
Arrayed in robes of dazzling light, and girt with 

purest gold. 

He heard the mighty new-made song, to Angel- 
hosts unknown, 

Go up like incense unto Him that sat upon the 
Throne ; 

And the pure strains by Seraphs sung in that 
celestial sphere. 

In sweetest cadence rose and fell upon his listening 
ear. 



34 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Within the. flashing walls of Heaven, with jewelled 

. splendour bright, 
He saw the countless multitudes arrayed in saintly 

white ; 
He marked them with their waving palms, in 

worship bendingjow 
Before the feet of Him Who smil'd beneath the 

emerald bow. 

The pearly gates, the crystal sea, the universal 

hymn, 
The sun-bright forms, the brilliant eyes, which 

tears may never dim, 
The healing trees, the fadeless flowers, the harp- 

ings of the blest. 
In splendid vision to his soul revealed the promised 

rest. 

Long since that aged saint hath reached the fair 

celestial shore, 
And gained the martyr's crown, for he the martyr's 

suffering bore ; 
Long since his happy feet have stood within his 

Father's home, ^ 

Yet still the mighty voice he heard, with ceaseless j 

cry, saith, " Come ! " ^ 

I 
And life's bright fountain springeth yet, as free, 

and fresh, and fair, j 

As when in Patmos' dreary Isle it cheered the 

exile there ! 
And hark ! the Spirit and the Bride repeat in 

mercy still, ] 

That he who is athirst may drink — yea, whosoever 

will I 



THE INNOCENTS' DAY 35 

O blessed voices ! be it ours your loving call to 
hear ° 

And so obey that when, at last, from yonder 

radiant sphere 
The Heavenly Bridegroom shall descend to claim 

His own again, 

We may lift up our heads and say, " Lord, even so. 
Amen ! " ' 

Elizabeth Surr 

THE INNOCENTS' DAY 

13 AHEL weeping for her children, 
-*- V Flowers in early spring laid low ; 
None may comfort, none may cheer her 
Faint and pallid, full of woe. ' 

Yet the slain are girt with triumph ; . 
They shall swell the victors' song ; 
Theirs the crown with scarce a struggle, 
First-fruits of the martyr throng ! 

Bethlehem's streets are dark with mourning 

All is woe and wild despair ; 
But within the heavenly city 

John beheld a vision fair : 
Little ones with palms rejoicing 

In their happy, high estate. 
Following with eager footsteps 

Christ, the Lamb Immaculate. 

There, in that eternal country, 
Men of peace have peace for aye ; 

There the sword is sheathed for ever ; 
Foes are banished far away. 



36 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG 

Here, Lord, mortify within us 
Vices which Thine eye offend : 

Keep us, children, pure and holy, 
Constant, faithful, to the end. 

William Chatterton Dix 



WITHIN THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS 

DAY 

WHEN Jordan hushed his waters still. 
And silence slept on Zion's hill ; 
When Salem's shepherds through the night 
Watched o'er their flocks by starry light, — 

Hark 1 from the midnight hills around, 
A voice, of more than mortal sound, 
In distant hallelujahs stole. 
Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul. 

Then swift to every startled eye. 
New streams of glory gild the sky ; 
Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour 
Her spirits to the midnight hour. 

On wheels of light, on wings of flame. 
The glorious hosts to Zion came ; 
High Heaven with songs of triumph rung, 
While thus they smote their harps and sung : 

O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye : 
The long-expected hour is nigh ; 
The joys of Nature rise again; 
The Prince of Salem comes to reign. 



THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS DAY 37 

See Mercy, from her golden urn, 
Pours a rich stream to them that mourn ; 
Behold, she binds, with tender care, 
The bleeding bosom of Despair. 

He comes to cheer the trembling heart, 
Bid Satan and his host depart ; 
Again the Day-star gilds the gloom. 
Again the bowers of Eden bloom. 

Thomas Campbell 



CARRY me, Babe, to Bethlehem now. 
For I would look on Thee, my God! 
Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, 
Thou to that goal the only road. 

From my deep slumbers bid me wake. 

Call me, — no evil shall betide me ; 
Give me Thy heavenly hand to guide me, 

And I shall not Heaven's way mistake. 
So shall I straight to Bethlehem go. 

Where I shall look on Thee, my God ! 
Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, 

Thou to that goal the only road. 

Though I'm oppressed with want and woe. 

Though I am clad in garments torn, 
Though Tm a wanderer lost and lorn. 

Guide me, my God ! where'er I go ! 
Bring me, I pray, to Bethlehem now. 

Where I may look on Thee, my God ! 
Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, 

Thou to that goal my only road. 

Sir John Bowring 



/ 

38 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



AWAY with sorrow's sigh, 
Our prayers are heard on high ; I 

And through Heaven's crystal door, 
On this our earthly floor. 
Comes meek-eyed Peace to walk with poor mortality. 

In dead of night profound, 
There breaks a seraph sound 
Of never-ending morn ; 
The Lord of glory born 
Within a holy grot on this our sullen ground. 

O sight of strange surprise j 

That fills our gazing eyes ! ! 

A manger coldly strew'd, } 

And swaddling-bands so rude, i 

A leaning mother poor, and child that helpless lies, f 

Art Thou, O wondrous sight. 
Of lights the very Light, ( 

Who holdest in Thy hand / 

The sky and sea and land, — ■ 

Who than the glorious heavens art more exceedingf 
bright ? ' 

'Tis so : Faith darts before, 
And, through the cloud drawn o'er. 
She sees the God of all, 
Where Angels prostrate fall. 
Adoring, tremble still, and trembling still adore. 

Within us, Babe Divine, 

Be born, and make us Thine ; 



THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS DAY 39 

Within our souls reveal 
Thy love and power to heal ; 
Be born, and make our hearts Thy cradle and Thy 
shrine. 

Isaac Williams 



IT came upon the midnight clear, 
That glorious song of old. 
From Angels bending near the earth 

To touch their harps of gold : 
" Peace on the earth, good-will to men 
From Heaven's all-gracious King ! " 
The world in solemn stillness lay 
To hear the Angels sing. 

Still through the cloven skies they come, 

With peaceful wings unfurled ; 
And still their heavenly music floats 

O'er all the weary world : 
Above its sad and lowly plains 

They bend on heavenly wing, 
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds 

The blessed Angels sing. 

Yet with the woes of sin and strife 

The world has suffered long ; 
Beneath the Angel-strain have rolled 

Two thousand years of wrong ; 
And men, at war with men, hear not 

The love-song which they bring : 
Oh ! hush the noise, ye men of strife. 

And hear the Angels sing. 

And ye, beneath life's crushing load 
Whose forms are bending low ; 



40 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG , 

Who toil along the climbing way 
With painful steps and slow, — 

Look now ! for glad and golden hours 
Come swiftly on the wing : 

Oh ! rest beside the weary road, 
And hear the Angels sing ! 

For lo ! the days are hastening on, 

By prophet bards foretold, 
When with the ever-circling years 

Comes round the age of gold ; 
When Peace shall over all the earth 

Its ancient splendours fling, 
And the whole world give back the song 

Which now the Angels sing. 

Edmund Hamilton Sears 



SLEEP, Holy Babe, 
Upon Thy mother's breast ; 
Great Lord of earth and sea and sky, 
How sweet it is to see Thee lie 
In such a place of rest ! 

Sleep, Holy Babe : 
Thine Angels watch around, 
All bending low, with folded wings. 
Before the Incarnate King of kings. 
In reverent awe profound. 

Sleep, Holy Babe, 

While I with Mary gaze 
In joy upon that face awhile, 
Upon the loving Infant smile, 

Which there divinely plays. 



THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST 41 

Sleep, Holy Babe ; 

Ah ! take Thy brief repose : 
Too quickly will Thy slumbers break, 
And Thou to lengthened pains awake, 

That death alone shall close. 



Then must those hands 

Which now so fair I see, 
Those little pearly feet of Thine, 
So soft, so delicately fine, 

Be pierced and rent for me. 

Then must that brow 
Its thorny crown receive ; 
That cheek, more lovely than the rose, 
^ ') drenched with blood, and marred with blows, 
That I thereby may live. 

Edward Caswall 



THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST 

YE flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright. 
That erst with music and triumphant song. 
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear, 
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along 
Through the soft silence of the listening night, 
Now mourn ; and if, sad share with us to bear, 
Your fiery essence can distil no tear. 
Burn in your sighs, and borrow 
Seas wept from our deep sorrow ; 
He Who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere 
Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease. 
Alas, how soon our sin 



42 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Sore doth begin j 

His infancy to seize ! i 

Oh, more exceeding love, or law more just ? I] 
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love ! | 

For we by rightful doom remediless f 

Were lost in death, till He that dwelt above 
High throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust ^ 
Emptied His glory, even to nakedness ; 
And that great cov'nant which we still transgress ^ 
Entirely satisfied, \ 

And the full wrath beside ] 

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, / 

And seals obedience first with wounding smart ! ' 
This day ; but oh, ere long [ 

Huge pangs and strong 

Will pierce more near His heart ! 

John Milton 



HOURS, and days, and months, and years, ; 
Come and go, arise and fall, V 

Gains and losses, smiles and tears 1 

Freely scattered through them all ; ,' 

O my Saviour ! let them be 

(Pregnant with Thy life divine). 
Spent in better serving Thee, , 

And becoming wholly Thine. ( 

O'er the threshold of the year. 

Sprinkled with Thy precious blood. 
Let me draw to Thee more near. 

Made by Thee more wise and good ; 
O my Saviour, when this soul 

Proudly would its way pursue. 
Let Thy sorrow's soft control 

Gently chasten and subdue. 



THE EPIPHANY 43 

For the blessed years gone by, 

And the joys which winged their flight, 
For the blessed hopes on high, 

Making all the future bright ; 
For the stay and strength Thou art, 

Ever wast, and still shalt be, 
O my Saviour, let this heart 

Ring its joy-bells out to Thee. 

Let the memory of the past 

Shed its glow on years to come, 
Yield its wisdom, and at last 

Light my wand'ring footsteps home ; 
O my Saviour ! with Thy blood 

Sprinkle all my future days. 
Make them holy, keep them good, 

Fill them with Thine endless praise. 

John S. B. Monsell 



THE EPIPHANY 

FROM princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed, 
They seek the distant Bethlehem's lowly 
shade ; 
Faith leads the way, and gathers light, and now 
Leans upon hope, which strengthens as they go. 

What gladness crowns their steps, as now to view, 
The heavenly messenger appears anew ; 
And o'er the roof the star descending mild. 
Showed in the mother's arms the Holy Child ! 

But yet no ivory here, no glowing gold, 
No purple royalties the Babe enfold ; 



44 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

His palace-hall, a stable's solitude ! 

His regal throne, a manger dark and rude ! 

Others let kingly pomp and power adorn, 

His is a better kingship ; on this morn. 

He, on His poor straw pallet meanly laid. 

Hath hearts of men with viewless sceptre swayed. 

Lo ! at His humble cradle, on bent knee. 
They in the Child adore the Deity ! 
And to that Child, us of that Gentile seed, 
And to that humble cradle. Faith shall lead. 

Love is the gold, meet offering for a king ; 
Myrrh to the Son of Man shall abstinence bring ; 
And prayer shall be the ascending frankincense. 
Which owns our God in veil'd omnipotence. 

Glory to God the Father, fount of Light ; 
To Him, Who shone upon the Gentile's night ; 
And unto Him, well-spring of Charity, 
All equal in mysterious Unity. 

Isaac Williams 



THE wise men to Thy cradle-throne, 
O Infant Saviour, brought, of old, 
The incense meet for God alone. 
Sharp myrrh, and shining gold. 

Shine on us too, sweet Eastern Star, 
Thine own baptized Gentile band, 
Till we have found our Lord from far. 
An offering in our hand ! 



THE EPIPHANY 45 

Till we have brought the fine gold rare, 
Of zeal that giveth all for love ; 

Till we have prayed the glowing prayer, 
Like incense borne above ; 

Till bitter tears our eyes have wet, 
Because our wilful hearts would err ; 

Worship and love and sorrow met, 
Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 

All meet for Thee, our own adored. 
Our suffering Saviour, God, and King ; 

Accept the gold and incense, Lord : 
Accept the myrrh, we bring. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



SOUGHT for Wisdom in the morning time, 
When the sun cleared the hills ; and strove to 

climb 
Where I could further see ; but all in vain 
The efforts made : 'twas but a wearying strain 
At truth ; nor had of knowledge save the pain. 

(There rose a star i' th' east, before 'twas night. 
And spoke of God ; but only spoke of might. 

And height, and distance ; in a gathering mist, 
I lost the star ; I could not but persist 
To seek, but how to find it nothing wist. 

I journeyed long and darkly ; but at last 
The star appeared ; and now its beams were cast 
On a poor stable, where, in swaddling bands, 
An Infant lay in virgin mother's hands ; 
Fixed there it stood; and fixed for me still 
stands. 



I 



46 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I found where Wisdom dwelt ; and, in my joy, 
Brought forth my gifts ; gold, though it held alloy. 
Which dimmed its worth ; incense from forth 

a breast 
Warm with new love j myrrh, through all life 

possessed, 
Fragrant to make the couch of earth's last 
rest. 

Lord Kinloch 



THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE 
EPIPHANY 

WHAT earth appeared to Angel eyes 
That Sabbath morn in Paradise, 
When man before his Father stood. 
And God beheld that all was good — 

When Nature, guiltless yet of stain, 
Returned her Maker's smile again. 
And over all created things 
Lingered the Spirit's brooding Wings — 

So fair, so fresh, so free from taint. 
Beyond all mortal skill to paint, 
So calm in growing strength serene. 
The Holy Childhood must have been. 

A Garden fed with Heavenly Dew, 
Where all things lovely bloomed and grew. 
Where knowledge both of good and ill, 
But left the heart more holy still. 



I 



]i 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 47 

But vainly would v;e seek to raise 
The veil that shrouds Christ's early days, 
Each wondrous Act, each Word sublime 
That beautified that glorious Prime. 

A few brief lines of Sacred Writ 
Contain the whole we know of it ; 
And where the eye of faith may see 
The lowly Home of Galilee, 

Where daily in His Mother's sight 
He grew in Wisdom, and in Might ; 
The path of meek obedience trod. 
In favour both with man and God. 

Anna H. Drury 



WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER 
THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

HE grew in Wisdom ! who can weigh 
The meaning which those Words convey ; 
Or trace the deep mysterious line 
Between the Human and Divine ? 

We only know the daily growth 
Was that of Mind and Body both. 
Until the Perfect Childhood passed 
Into the Perfect Man at last. 

Yet one recorded scene alone 

A Glory o'er those years hath thrown, 

Revealing to His Mother's Soul 

A Realm beyond her Love's control. 



48 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Teaching both her, who meekly heard 
And treasured every sacred Word, 
And all His Church from age to age, 
Who read them in the Gospel page, 

That far above all earthly claim 

Was that great -Work for which He came, 

And far beyond all earthly tie, 

The Sonship of His Deity. 

And if to those who love Him most 
His Presence for a while be lost, 
And on Life's crowded road they find 
That they have left their Lord behind. 

Let them each erring step retrace. 
And seek Him through His Means of Grace 
Who, in His Father's House of Prayer, 
Still doth His Work of Mercy there'. 

Anna H. Drury 



TUESDAY 

" 'VT IGHT flies before the orient morning," 

i^ So speaks the dial's accents clear : 
So better speaks the prophet's warning 
To ears that hear. 

" Night flies before the sun ascending " ; 

The sun goes down, the shadow spreads ; 
O come the day which, never ending. 
No night succeeds ! 

And, see ! a purer day-spring beaming. 
Unwonted light ; nor moon nor sun ; 
But Light itself, with glory streaming, 
God on His Throne. 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 49 

And thence the river flows of gladness, 
And there the tree of comfort grows, 
Which whoso tastes, all sense of sadness, 
All care, foregoes. 

O tree profuse of life and healing ; 
O stream of pleasure, ever new ; 
O day of light, God's light revealing, 
Essential, true : — 

For ye, for righteous men and lowly, 

God's saints, that promised seat prepare ; 
Nor impious aught, nor aught unholy 
Finds entrance there : 

Prompt ye my spirit, lest the slumber 

Of reckless sloth its pow'rs enchain ; 
Or worldly lusts its course encumber, 
Or thoughts profane. 

Richard Mant 



WEDNESDAY 

FOR message of the Written Word, 
In every clime proclaimed and heard. 
And wondrous energies of thought, 
By which its inner tones are caught, 
Inspirer of the Holy Page, 
Thy Church gives thanks from age to age ! 

But O ! from vanity, that swells 

The foolish mind, wherein there dwells 
No thirst for Wisdom, save of earth, 
Untouched by aught of heavenly birth, 

Thou, Who of knowledge hast the key 

Hold us in listening ever free ! 



so CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Rather with longing of desire, 
Wherewith to Thee we shall aspire, 
And meek humility of heart. 
That knows to take the scholar's part, 
O Student at the Doctors' feet, 
Endow Thy learners, we entreat ! 

And so with utterance of Thy will, 
Which Thou shalt help us to fulfil ; 
And glories of Thyself unveiled. 
By us with answering fervour hailed, 
O Judge, preparing for Thy Throne, 
Make us, before too late. Thine own ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



THURSDAY 



NOW take my heart and all that is in me, 
My liOrd beloved, take it from me to Thee ; i 
I would have Thine j 

This soul and flesh of mine ; J 

Would order thought and word and deed / 

As Thy most holy will shall lead. 

Thou feedest me with heavenly bread and wine, 
Thou pourest through me streams of life divine ; 
Oh noble Face, 
So sweet, so full of grace, 
I ponder as Thy Cross I see, 
How best to give myself to Thee. 

Behold, through all the eternal ages, still 
My heart shall choose and love Thy holy will ; 
Wouldst Thou my death, 
I die to Thee in faith ; 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 51 

Wouldst Thou that I should longer live, 
To Thee the choice I wholly give. 

But Thou must also deign to be my own, 
To dwell in me, to make my heart Thy throne, 
My God indeed. 
My Help in time of need. 
My Head, from Whom no power can sever, 
The Bridegroom of my soul for ever ! 

Lyra Germanica 



FRIDAY 

SAVIOUR, sprinkle many nations, 
Fruitful let Thy sorrows be ! 
By Thy pains and consolations, 
Draw the Gentiles unto Thee. 
Of Thy Cross, the wondrous story. 

Be it to the nations told ; 
Let them see Thee in Thy glory, 
And Thy mercy manifold. 

Far and wide, though all unknowing, 

Pants for Thee each mortal breast ; 
Human tears for Thee are flowing. 

Human hearts in Thee would rest. 
Thirsting, as for dews of even. 

As the new-mown grass for rain, 
Thee they seek, as God of Heaven, 

Thee, as Man, for sinners slain. 

Saviour ! lo, the isles are waiting, 

Stretch'd the hand, and strain'd the sight, 

For Thy Spirit, new-creating, 

Love's pure flame, and wisdom's light ; 



52 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Give the word, and of the preacher 
Speed the foot, and touch the tongue, 

Till on earth, by every creature. 
Glory to the Lamb be sung. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe 



SATURDAY 

I ASK a perfect creed ! 
Oh, that to me were given, 
The teaching that leads none astray. 
The scholarship of Heaven ! 

Sure wisdom and pure light, 

With lowly, loving fear ; 
The steadfast, ever-looking eye. 

The ever-listening ear. 

Calm faith that grasps the word 

Of Him Who cannot lie ; 
That hears alone the voice divine, 

Though crowds are standing by. 

The one, whole truth I seek, 

In this sad age of strife ; 
The truth of Him Who is the Truth, 

And in whose truth is life. 

Truth which contains true rest ; 

Which is the grave of doubt ; 
Which ends uncertainty and gloom. 

And casts the falsehood out. 

O True One, give me truth ! 

And let it quench in me 
The thirst of this long-craving heart, 

And set my spirit free. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 53 

O Truth of God, destroy 

The cloud, the chain, the war ; 

Dawn to this stormy midnight be, 
My bright and morning star ! 

HORATIUS BONAR 



THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE 
EPIPHANY 

COME to our joyous marriage feast, 
The bride has decked her hair, 
The board is full, the wine is red ; 
Come forth our mirth to share. 

Thus merrily through Cana's town 
Had the glad summons poured. 

But had not told what honoured Guest 
Should grace that festal board ; 

Even He, The God, for us made Man, 

His lowly mother near, 
Who sat and smiled upon the rite. 

And blessed the bridal cheer. 

Why do the servants pause in doubt ? 

The voice of mirth is stayed ; 
" My Son, they have no wine to drink," 

Softly the mother said. 

Oh Loving Lord, and Good to all. 
He marked the lowly need, 

Yet gently chid the eager voice 
That urged His gracious deed. 



54 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" Fill to the brim the water pots." 

And they obey His sign ; 
They draw, they bear ; the clear pure wave 

Is turned to rosy wine. 

No more when'Cana's brides are wed 
Christ comes the feast to share ; 

But Christian hands may spread the board, 
And He will still be there. 

To hallow still our festive hours, 

If chastened be our mirth, 
Such as we had not feared if He 

Had looked on when on earth. 

O Thou to Whom all might and power 

In this wide earth belong, , 

Changing her natural elements, \ 

And making weak things strong ; 1 

Change Thou Thy children's sinful hearts, 

Bless Thou their weak design ; 
For man may fill the water pot, 

God makes the water wine. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY 
AFTER THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

T RRESOLUTE, I stand perplext, 
A What pathway shall I follow next ? 
Show me the way that I must take ; 
Show me, O Lord, for Jesus' sake. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 55 

He is the upward way for all, 
Upon whose steep ascents there fall 
Sweet lustres from the gates above, 
The ever-open gates of love. 

I know Him : but when thus I stay, 

And musing loiter time away, 

A shadow dims that sacred light 

Which shines to guide from height to height. 

Unless some earthly way I take, 
I cannot heavenward progress make ; 
With settled aim and conscience clear. 
What shall I do? how journey here? 

My soul the untried seas would dare. 
Or sands of every way-mark bare. 
Should but Thy voice distinctly say, 
" Go forward, soul ; there lies thy way." 

Say, " This thou must do " : such behest 
Can make the darkest path the best : 
If but I know my way through time, 
My soul those sunny steeps can climb. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



TUESDAY 

JESU, the heart's own sweetness and true light. 
Thou art the secret Fountain that o'erflows 
The weary soul, surpassing all delight. 

In Whom each anxious longing finds repose. 

Stay with us, Lord, and with Thy kindly ray 
Enhghten our dark spirits, at whose birth 

Dark shades shall flee the opening eye of day. 
And sweetness shall revive the drooping earth. 



56 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

When Thou the heart dost visit all things seem 

Made new ; Truth shines in her unclouded form, ; 

Emerging from the world as from a dream ; , 

And Love, her face beholding, waxeth warm. / 

Good Jesus, while time's scroll I still unfold, \ 

Do Thou to me Thy love make manifest, ' 

That I, mid clouds that wrap me, may behold 
Thine everlasting glory, and find rest. 

He whom Thme oil makes glad as with new wme. 
He knows that knowledge which is from above ; 

Full blest is he ; that fulness is divine, 

And there is nothing else that he can love. 

Thou art the Fount of pity ; as it flows 

All drink of Thine abundance infinite : ^ 

Thou art the only lamp Thy country knows ; \ 

Scatter the clouds, and show us Thy true light. \ 

Isaac Williams 



WEDNESDAY 

AS hart pants high for gushing rills. 
So pants my soul, O God, to Thee : 
Deep eager thirst my bosom fills 

With God, the living God, to be. 
When shall I dare again draw near ? 
When in th' Almighty's sight appear ? 

Tears are my bread both night and day. 
Long weary days and nights of care, 

While hourly to my soul they say, 

"Where now thy God? thy Champion, where?" 

Thus count I mournful thoughts apart. 

Thus on myself I pour my heart. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 57 

For I would pass th' o'ershading veil, 
The curtain of the Lord's abode. 

Their way with soothing welcomes hail 
Who seek the portal of my God, 

With voice of joy and thankful song, 

With tumult of a festal throng. 

My soul, why bow'd and drooping go ? 

Why restless o'er me moan and cry ? 
Wait on the Lord : even yet I know 

My songs shall own His guardian eye. — 
My God — around me cower and shrink 
My fearful thoughts — behold I sink. 

John Keble 

THURSDAY 

THEREFORE to Thee I musing turn 
From where I rove on Jordan's shore, 
And from mine own low hill discern 

The bright'ning ridge of Hermon hoar. 

Deep calls on wak'ning deep, at sound 
Of Thy dark wat'ry pillars ; all 

Thy wild sea-waves are gathering round, 
Thy breakers o'er me burst and fall. 

Yet God in daily station set 

His watchful love ; His melody 

Comes nightly near ; it haunts me yet, 
God of my life, my prayer to Thee. 

I to the Lord will say, My Rock, 

Why hast Thou cast me out of mind? 

Why go I mourning, for the flock 

Of scorners to bear down and bind ? 



58 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

They wound, they bruise me to the bone, 

With spite and scorn around me close — 

" Where is thy God ? for ever gone ? " 
So cry all day my thronging foes. 

Yet wherefore droop, my heart, and why 
So restless o'er me moan and fret ? 

Trust God : — th' Enlight'ner of mine eye, 
Mine own true God, I praise Him yet. 

John Keble 

FRIDAY 

JUDGE me, and plead my cause, O God, 
Against th' unpitying kind ; 
Redeem me from the heart of fraud, 
The faithless, lawless mind. 

The God of my strong hold art Thou, 
Why hast Thou cast me off? 

Why walk I still with mourning brow. 
While foemen crush and scoff? 

O send from Heaven Thy truth and light, 
And they shall lead me — they 

Shall bring me to Thy holy height. 
The tents of Thine array. 

So to God's Altar my due feet 
Th' unerring path may find : 

My God, my Joy when visions sweet 
Thrill keenest o'er my mind ! 

So with my lyre Thy praise shall blend, 
O God, mine own true God 1 — 

Ah why, my soul, so lowly bend, 
So hopeless 'neath the rod ? 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 59 

Why restless o'er me moan and fret ? 

His time do thou abide : 
Light of mine eyes, I praise Him yet, 

Mine only God and Guide. 

John Keble 



SATURDAY 

LIFE ! I know not what thou art, 
But know that thou and I must part ; 

And when, or how, or where we met 

I own to me's a secret yet. 

But this I know, when thou art fled. 

Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, 

No clod so valueless shall be 

As all that then remains of me. 

O whither, whither dost thou fly. 

Where bend unseen thy trackless course ? 
And in this strange divorce. 

Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I ? 

To the vast ocean of empyreal flame 
From whence thy essence came 
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed 
From matter's base encumbering weed ? 
Or dost thou, hid from sight. 
Wait, like some spell-bound knight. 

Through blank oblivious years th' appointed 
hour 

To break thy trance and reassume thy power ? 

Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be ? 

O say what art thou when no more thou'rt thee ? 
Life ! we've been long together, 

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ; 

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; — 



6o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Then steal away, give little warning, 

Choose thine own time ; 
Say not Good-night, — but in some brighter clime 

Bid me Good-morning ! 

Anna Letitia Barbauld 



THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER 
THE EPIPHANY 

THE flower that in the lowly vale, 
Beside the old gray stone. 
Hides underneath her dark green leaves, 
And blooms there all alone ; 

Her scented breath is just as sweet. 

Her silken leaf as blue. 
As though within the garden ground 

Admired and prized she grew. 

The lowly heart, the humble mind, 
That shrink from human praise. 

That wear away in unknown deeds 
The measure of their days. 

That know themselves unworthy ail, 
Their hearts how prone to ill, 

Unmeet that Christ therein should dwell ; 
He knows and loves them still. 

As when the lordly Roman prayed, 

" I am not worthy. Lord," 
He smiled upon his trembling faith, 

And heard his humble word. 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 6i 

He said that little children were 

Types of humility ; 
How humble, then, and meek of heart. 

His children ought to be. 

No swelling pride, no thirst of praise. 
Their little hearts should move ; 

But humble prayers in meekness poured, 
And deeds of lowly love : 

Meek as the flower that grows unmarked 

Where man has never trod, 
Where only Angels watch her bloom 

Beneath the eye of God. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER 
THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

THE sufferer had been heard to say, 
" I am the unhappiest in the land " ; 
But comforted went on his way, 
When Jesus took him by the hand. 

The poor man had been oft passed by 
By many people rich and grand ; 

But found at last prosperity, 

When Jesus took him by the hand. 

The sinner in unpitied blame 

Was perishing, an outcast banned ; 



62 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But rose, and left behind his shame, 
When Jesus took him by the hand. 

And many of whom all men said, 

" They've fallen never more to stand," 

Have risen, though they seemed as dead, 
When Jesus took them by the hand. 

O ye, who in the journey's length 
Must often tread the weary sand. 

Your fainting limbs must gather strength 
If Jesus takes you by the hand. 

" Come unto Me," the Saviour cries, 
Nor speaks in accents falsely bland : 

" Hard is the way," He says, " but rise " : 
And then He takes us by the hand. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



TUESDAY 

FIRE is not quench'd with fire, and wrath 
Adds fuel to the angry flame ; 
And whosoe'er would tread the path 
Of peace, must hasty passion tame. 

Art thou offended ? look within. 
And see how ye deserve rebuke ; 

And add not to another's sin, 
By warm reply and spiteful look. 

But, in the very brunt of haste, 

By humble meekness ward the blow. 

Let blessings be for curses placed. 
To gain a friend, to lose a foe. 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 63 

Let loving meekness, beaming bright, 
O'er every word and action sit ; 

And let all angry, foul despite, 
Be words, as 'twere, on water writ. 

So shall your store of worth increase, 
Your brother's passion clear away, — 

So shall your souls be throned in peace. 
Both here and in the eternal day ! 

Few are the hours, and long the path, 

That leads through passing earth to Heaven, 

Then let us turn away from wrath, 
And all for peace and love be given. 



WEDNESDAY 

OH, give thanks to Him that made 
Morning light and evening shade ; 
Source and Giver of all good. 
Nightly sleep and daily food ; 
Quickener of our wearied powers, 
Guard of our unconscious hours. 

Oh, give thanks to Nature's King, 
Who made every breathing thing : 
His our warm and sentient frame. 
His, the mind's immortal flame : 
Oh, how close the ties that bind 
Spirits to the Eternal Mind ! 

Oh, give thanks with heart and lip. 
For we are His workmanship ; 
And all creatures are His care : 



64 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Not a bird that cleaves the air 
Falls unnoticed ; but who can 
Speak the Father's love to man ? 

Oh, give thanks to Him Who came 
In a mortal, suffering frame, — 
Temple of the Deity, — 
Came, for rebel man to die ; 
In the path Himself hath trod. 
Leading back His saints to God. 

JOSIAH CONDER 



THURSDAY 

AND feel I, Death ! no joy from thought of 
thee? 
Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires 
With every nobler thought and fairer deed ! 
Death, the deliverer, who rescues man, 
Death, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns ! 
Death, that absolves my birth, a curse without it ! 
Rich Death, that realizes all my cares. 
Toils, virtues, hopes ; without it a chimera ! 
Death, of all pain the period, not of joy ; 
Joy's source and subject still subsist unhurt. 
One in my soul and one in her great Sire, 
Though the four winds were warring for my dust. 
Yes, and from winds and waves and central night, 
Though prisoned there, my dust I too reclaim. 
To dust when drop proud Nature's proudest 

spheres, 
And live entire. Death is the crown of life ; 
Were Death denied, poor man would live in vain ; 
Were Death denied, to live would not be life ; 
Were Death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 65 

Death wounds to cure : we fall : we rise : we 

reign : 
Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies. 
When blooming Eden withers in our sight : 
Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. 
This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 
When shall I die to vanity, pain, death ? 
When shall I die ? When shall I live for ever ? 

Edward Young 



FRIDAY 

TIME is a prince whose resistless sway 
Everything earthly must needs obey ; 
The din of war, and the tyrant's frown, 
And the shepherd's crook, and the conqueror's 

crown, 
Palaces, pyramids, temples, towers — 
With the falling leaves, and the fading flowers. 
And the sunset's flush and the rainbow's ray — 
At the touch of Time all are passing away. 

And Death, with a passionless, cloudless eye, 
And a crown of frost, standeth ever by ; 
He breathes on the brow of the old and the young. 
He stays the heart and he stills the tongue ; 
From the fetter'd soul he unbinds the chain — 
And the wave of passion, the pulse of pain, 
And hope's fitful gleam, and woe's hurried breath, 
Are all lapp'd in the glorious calm of Death ! 

But Love, on his sun-bright wings sublime, 
Floats above the weltering foam of Time ; 
And the power of his paradisal breath 
Flings a flush of life o'er the frost of Death. 



66 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Time shall pass like a dew-drop at dawn of day, 
And Death like a rainbow shall fade away ; 
While Love by the Word of God shall be 
The Sun of the Heaven of Eternity ! 

John William Fletcher 



SATURDAY 

FRET not, poor soul : while doubt and fear 
Disturb thy breast, 
The pitying Angels, who can see 
How vain thy wild regret must be. 
Say, Trust and Rest. 

Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait ; 

His choice is best ; 
While blind and erring is thy sight. 
His wisdom sees and judges right ; 

So Trust and Rest. 

Strive not, nor struggle : thy poor might 

Can never wrest 
The meanest thing to serve thy will : 
All power is His alone : Be still, 

And Trust and Rest. 

Desire not : self-love is strong 

Within thy breast; 
And yet He loves thee better still, 
So let Him do His loving will, 

And Trust and Rest. 

What dost thou fear ? His wisdom reigns 
Supreme, confessed; 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 67 

His power is infinite ; His love 
Thy deepest, fondest dreams above — 
So Trust and Rest. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER THE 
EPIPHANY 

NOT afar from surf and wave 
Thou didst speak the word and save, 
But while tossing on the sea 
Didst command tranquillity. 

Not upon us from the skies 
Didst Thou look with happy eyes, 
But while sorrowing with us here 
Thou didst shed the pitying tear. 

Not with trumpet from a rock 
. Didst Thou guide the battle's shock, 
But in front of us didst go, 
And receive the heaviest blow. 

Not alone the just man's friend. 
Worthy lives didst Thou commend ; 
But to those who sinned before 
Saidst Thou, " Go, and sin no more." 

Thine the black and bitter bread. 
Thine the busy, weary head. 
Thine the ready, aching feet. 
Thine the burden and the heat. 



68 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Worth the myriads of us, 
Didst Thou live and labour thus, 
Saviour, and shall we refuse 
Everything that Thou didst choose ? 
Thomas Toke Lynch 



WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY 
AFTER THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

OTHOU ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ! Thou 
Whose ways 
Mantled with darkness mock all finite gaze, 
Before Whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand. 
Seraph and man, ahke in weakness stand. 
And countless ages, trampling into clay 
Earth's empires on their march, are but a day ; 
Father of worlds unknown, unnumbered ! Thou 
With Whom all time is one eternal 7iow^ 
Who know'st no past nor future — Thou Whose 

breath 
Goes forth and bears to myriads life or death. 
Look on us, guide us ! wanderers of a sea 
Wild and obscure, what are we, reft of Thee ? 
A thousand rocks, deep hid, elude our sight, 
A star may set — and we are lost in night : 
A breeze may waft us to the whirlpool's brink, 
A treacherous song allure us — and we sink ! 
Oh ! by His love Who, veiling Godhead's light, 
To moments circumscribed the Infinite, 
And Heaven and earth disdained not to ally 
By that dread union — Man with Deity ; 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 69 

Immortal tears o'er mortal woes Who shed, 
And, ere He raised them, wept above the dead ; 
Save, or we perish ! Let Thy word control 
The earthquakes of that universe — the soul ; 
Pervade the depths of passion — speak once more 
The mighty mandate, guard of every shore, 
" Here shall thy waves be stayed," in grief, in pain, 
The fearful poise of reason's sphere maintain. 
Thou, by Whom suns are balanced ! — Thus secure 
In Thee shall Faith and Fortitude endure : 
Conscious of Thee, unfaltering shall the just 
Look upward still, in high and holy trust. 
And, by affliction guided to Thy shrine. 
The first, last thoughts of suffering hearts be Thine. 

Felicia Hemans 



I 



TUESDAY 

THINK if thou couldst know, 
O soul that will complain. 
What lies conceal'd below 

Our burden and our pain ; 
How just our anguish brings 
Nearer those longed-for things 
We seek for now in vain, — 
I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain. 

I think if thou couldst see, 

With thy dim mortal sight. 
How meanings dark to thee 

Are shadows hiding light ; 
Truth's efforts cross'd and vex'd. 
Life purpose all perplex'd, — 

If thou couldst see them right, 
I think that they would seem all clear and wise 
and bright. 



70 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And yet thou canst not know, 
And yet thou canst not see ; 
Wisdom and sight are slow 

In poor humanity. 
If thou couldst trusty poor soul, 
In Him Who rules the whole, 

Thou wouldst find peace and rest ; 
Wisdom and right are well, but trust is best. 
Adelaide Anne Procter 



O 



WEDNESDAY 

|F what an easy quick access, 

My blessed Lord, art Thou ! how 
suddenly 
May our requests Thine ear invade ! 
To show that state dislikes not easiness. 
If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made ; 
Thou canst no more not hear than Thou canst die. 

Of what supreme almighty power 
Is Thy great arm, which spans the east and west, 

And tacks the centre to the sphere ! 
By it do all things live their measured hour : 
We cannot ask the thing which is not there, 
Blaming the shallowness of our request. 

Of what unmeasurable love 
Art Thou possessed, Who, when Thou could'st not 
die, 

Wert fain to take our flesh and curse, 
And for our sakes in person sin reprove ! 
That, by destroying that which tied Thy purse. 
Thou might'st make way for liberality. 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 71 

Since then these three wait on Thy throne, 
Ease, Power, and Love ; I value prayer so, 

That were I to leave all but one, 
Wealth, fame, endowments, virtues, all should go : 
I, and dear prayer, would together dwell. 
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell. 

George Herbert 



THURSDAY 

I SHOULD not care how hard my fortunes were. 
Might still my hopes be such, as now they are, 
Of help divine ; nor fear how poor I be. 
If thoughts yet present still may bide in me ; 
For they have left assurance of such aid, 
That I am of no danger now afraid. 

Yea, now I see, methinks, what weak and 
vain 
Supporters I have sought to help sustain 
My fainting heart ; when some injurious hand 
Would undermine the station where I stand. 
Methinks I see how scurvy and how base 
It is, to scrape for favours and for grace 
To men of earthly minds, and unto those 
Who may, perhaps, before to-morrow, lose 
Their wealth, or their abused authority. 
And stand as much in want of help as I ! 

Methinks, in this new rapture I do see 
The hand of God from Heaven supporting me. 
Without those rotten aids for which I whined 
When I was of my other, vulgar mind ; 
And if in some one part of me it lay, 
I now could cut that limb of me away. 
Still might 1 keep this mind, there were enough 
Within myself (beside that cumbrous stuff 



72 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

We seek without) which, husbanded aright, 
Would make me rich for all the world's despite ; 
And I have hopes, that had she quite bereft me 
Of those few rags and toys, which yet are left me, 
I should on God alone so much depend 
That I should need nor wealth, nor other friend. 

George Wither 



FRIDAY 

SAY, from what unknown source, mysterious 
Nile, 
In climes remote, thy nurturing stream aye 
flows? 
Amid the burning waste, what emerald isle 

O'er thy blest birth delicious freshness throws ? 
Or, — nursed in mountain cave, 
Distils thy limpid wave. 
From regions wreathed with cloud, blanched with 
eternal snows? 

Silent art thou : still, fair stream, like a thread 

Of silvery light athwart the desert drear. 
Through fields of smiling plenty hast thou sped 
A weary length of wilderness to cheer. 
Well-pleased, upon his way. 
Such solace to survey, 
The wanderer pitched his tent, and built him 
cities here. 

To other gods doth Pharaoh lift his eyes, 

And magic arts his reasoning powers beguile ; 

For, sun, and moon, and stars he deifies. 
And monsters venomous, and reptiles vile ; 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 73 

And when he sees thy wave 
The teeming landscape lave, 
He bends in impious awe, and worships thee, O 
Nile! 

Then didst thou witness the avenging rod. 

Portentous wave, athwart thy troubled bed. 
When, in defiance of an angry God, 

An impious tyrant showed his haughty head. 
Thy conscious wave no more 
Heaven's tranquil aspect wore, 
But, mantling o'er thy face, indignant blushes spread. 
William Henry Charlton 



SATURDAY 

BE thou content : be still before 
His face, at Whose right hand doth reign 
Fulness of joy for evermore, 

Without Whom all thy toil is vain : 
He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays 
Make glad with life and light thy dreary days : 

Be thou content. 

In Him is comfort, light, and grace, 

And changeless love beyond our thought ; 

The sorest pang, the worst disgrace. 
If He is there shall harm thee not. 

He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands. 

And calm thy fears ; nay, death is in His hands : 

Be thou content. 

Or art thou friendless and alone. 

Hast none in whom thou canst confide ? 

God careth for thee, lonely one : 
Comfort and help He will provide, 



74 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

He sees thy sorrows, and thy hidden grief, 
He knoweth when to send thee quick relief : 

Be thou content. 

Thy heart's unspoken pain He knows, 
Thy secret sighs He hears full well ; 

What to none else thou dar'st disclose, 
To Him thou may'st with boldness tell. 

He is not far away, but ever nigh, 

And answereth willingly the poor man's cry : 

Be thou content. 



THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER THE 
EPIPHANY 

THE waving fields of yellow corn 
Grow ripe beneath the Autumn moon ; 
We know the reaper's ready hand 
Will cut the golden harvest soon. 

And there are many bright green weeds 
With spreading flowers of gaudy hue 

That grow together with the grain ; 
The reaper's hand shall cut them too. 

Thus, even in Christ's Own Church, we see 
The bad are mingled with the good, 

And men forsake their early vows 
And do not live as Christians should ; 

Yet the same sun is bright for all, 

Earth's common gifts for all are poured ; 

And so we deem that God forgets 
The promise of His awful Word. 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 75 

But there shall come a harvest time, 

When God's Own bands of Angels bright 

Shall bind the golden sheaves for Heaven, 
And fling the weeds to endless night. 

Then not, O Lord, bad fruitless weeds, 

Then not to fire eternal cast, 
But bearing rich the fruits of life 

Be all Thy children found at last ! 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER 
THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

THE lopped tree in time may grow again ; 
Most naked plants renew both fruit and 
flower ; 
The sorriest wight may find release of pain, 
The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower : 
Times go by turns, and chances change by course, 
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. 

The aea of fortune doth not ever flow, 
She draws her favours to the lowest ebb ; 
Her tides have equal times to come and go, 
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web : 
No joy so great, but runneth to an end ; 
No hap so hard, but may in fine amend. 

Not always full of leaf, nor ever spring. 
No endless night, nor yet eternal day ; 



76 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The saddest birds a season find to sing, 
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. 
Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, 
That man may hope, to rise, yet fear to fall. 

Robert Southwell 



H 



TUESDAY 

E leads us on 

By paths we did not know, 
Upward He leads us, though our steps be slow ; 
Though oft we faint and falter on the way, 
Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day, 
Yet, when the clouds are gone. 
We know He leads us on. 

He leads us on 
Through all the unquiet years ; 
Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and 

fears 
He guides our steps. Through all the tangled 

maze 
Of losses, sorrows, and o'erclouded days 
We know His will is done ; 
And still He leads us on. 

And He, at last, 
After the weary strife. 
After the restless fever we call life, 
After the dreariness, the aching pain. 
The wayward struggles which have proved in vain. 

After our toils are past — 

Will give us rest at last. 

Jane Borthwick 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 77 



WEDNESDAY 

HOW often on a morning bright, 
Lord, Whom we cannot see, 
Because Thou dwellest in the light. 
We feel we are with Thee ! 

The sky, it is so beautiful, 

It keenly brings to mind 
Our many wishes dutiful. 

Thy many bounties kind. 

And pleasure seeks to make us wise, 

Intenser for the pain 
With which these memories arise 

Of wishes that were vain. 

Of wishes that have hastened toward 
Thy work, yet would not stay ; 

Like him who ran to seek the Lord, 
Yet sorrowing went away. 

To be invited we were glad, 

Yet glad to be excused ; 
Occasion's hour a welcome had. 

And yet it passed unused. 

But God in light has come again, 
And comforts though He grieves ; 

For happiness is born of pain 
To him who but believes. 

Through tangled thoughts Thy mercy dea 

Shines with a richer grace ; 
As skies are seen more sweetly clear 

Through boughs that interlace. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



78 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



THURSDAY 

ETERNAL Truth, almighty, infinite. 
Only exiled from man's fleshly heart, 
Where ignorance and disobedience fight 

In hell and sin which shall have greatest part, 
When Thy sweet mercy opens forth the light 

Of grace, which giveth eyes unto the blind, 
And with the law even plowest up our sprite 

To faith, wherein flesh may salvation find. 
Thou bid'st us pray, and we do pray to Thee, 

But as to Power, and God, without us placed. 
Thinking a wish may wear out vanity, 

Or habits be by miracles defaced. 
One thought to God we give, the rest to sin ; 

Quickly unbent is all desire of good ; 
True words pass out, but have no being within ; 

We pray to Christ, yet help to shed His blood ; 
For while we say believe^ and feel it not. 

Promise amends, and yet despair in it. 
Hear Sodom judged, and go not out with Lot, 

Make law and gospel riddles of the wit. 
We with the Jews even Christ still crucify, 

As not yet come to our impiety. 

FuLKE Greville, Lord Brooke 



FRIDAY 

WHEN God at first made man, 
Having a glass of blessings standing by; 
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can : 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 
Contract into a span. 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 79 

So strength first made a way ; 
Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure : 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that alone of all His treasure 
Rest in the bottom lay. 

For if I should (said He) 
Bestow this jewel also on My creature, 
He would adore My gifts instead of Me, 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature. 
So both should losers be. 

Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlessness : 
Let him be rich and weary, that at least 
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
May toss him to My breast. 

George Herbert 



SATURDAY 

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 
The burial ground God's acre ! It is just; 
It consecrates each grave within its walls, 

And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. 

God's acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown 

The seed that they have garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast. 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 

At the great harvest, when the Archangel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 



8o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 
In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 
With that of flowers which never bloomed on 
earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the 
sod, 
And sink the furrow for the seed we sow; 
This is the field and acre of our God : 

This is the place where human harvests grow ! 

H. W. Longfellow 



THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER THE 
EPIPHANY 

WE see the leaves fall withered from the trees, 
And, year by year, the sweet flowers fade 
away, 
They wither in the sharp Autumnal breeze ; — 
Has man no higher, holier hope than they ? 

Frail as the gentle flower we see him die, 
The bright eye closes, and the failing breath 

Heaves not the lip with its accustomed sigh ; — 
Hath he no hope, no comfort in his death ? 

O yes, the fair leaves falling where we tread 
Shall clothe the waving forest trees no more ; 

But man shall rise immortal, from the dead, 
Passing through death as through an open 
door — 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 8i 

An open door, through which faint glimpses come 
Of the bright joys that blessed spirits find ; 

For Holy Scripture says, our Heavenly Home 
Is fairer far than all we leave behind. 

If then the Christianas hope so glorious be, 
Should not the Christian purify his heart 

To fit him for that Angel company 

Wherewith he hopes hereafter to have part ? 

And more than Angels holy, pure, and high, 
There's One Who left for us those realms of 
bliss, 
Who won our places in that glorious sky, 

And said our hearts must be made pure like 
His. 

And in that Heaven His children hold of Him, 
Himself shall to His faithful Saints be near, 

Then let not our high hope grow faint and dim 
But let us follow in His footsteps here. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER 
THE EPIPHANY 

MONDAY 

V^/HEN up to nightly skies we gaze, 
^ V ^ Where stars pursue their endless ways, 
We think we see from earth's low clod 
The wide and shining Home of God. 



82 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But could we rise to moon or sun, 
Or path where planets duly run, 
Still Heaven would spread above us far, 
And earth remote would seem a star. 

This earth with all its dust and tears 
Is His no less than yonder spheres ; 
And raindrops weak, and grains of sand. 
Are stamped by His immediate hand. 

The rock, the wave, the little flower, — 
All fed by streams of living power 
That spring from one Almighty Will, — 
Whate'er His thought conceives fulfil. 

We view those halls of painted air. 

And own Thy presence makes them fair ; 

But nearer still to Thee, O Lord, 

Is he whose thoughts with Thine accord. 

John Sterling 



TUESDAY 

IF as a flower doth spread and die. 
Thou wouldst extend me to some good, 
Before I were by frost's extremity 
Nipt in the bud ; 

The sweetness and the praise were Thine ; 
But the extension and the room 
Which in Thy garland I should fill were mine 
At Thy great doom. 

For as Thou dost impart Thy grace, 
The greater shall our glory be. 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 83 

The measure of our joys is in this place, 
The stuff with Thee. 

Let me not languish then, and spend 
A life as barren to Thy praise. 
As is the dust, to which that life doth tend 
But with delays. 

All things are busy ; only I 
Neither bring honey with the bees, 
Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry 
To water these. 

I am no link of Thy great chain, 
But all my company is a weed. 
Lord, place me in Thy concert ; give one strain 
To my poor reed. 

George Herbert 



WEDNESDAY 

OPEN thyself, and then look in ; 
Consider what thou mightst have been, 
And what thou art now made by sin. 

Asham'd o' the state to which thou'rt brought, 
Detest, and grieve for each past fault ; 
Sigh, weep, and blush for each foul thought. 

Fear, and despair not ; but still love ; 
Look humbly up to God above, 
And Him thou'lt soon to pity move. 

Resolve on that which prudence shows ; 
Perform what thou dost well propose ; 
And keep i' the way thou once hast chose. 



84 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Vice, and what looks like vicious, shun ; 
Let use make good acts easily done : 
Have zeal, as when thou first begun. 

Hope strongly, yet be humble still : 
Thy good is God's ; what's thine, is ill : 
Do thus, and thee affect He will. 

Pray, when with others ; when alone, 
To scorn, or praise, be as a stone : 
Forget thyself, and all — but One. 

Remove what stands 'twixt God and thee : 
Use not thy fancy Him to see : 
One with His will make thy will be. 

Patrick Carey 



THURSDAY 

SWIFT o'er the desert plains the wild wind 
sweeps ; 
Swift o'er the sea that heaves beneath its power ; 
And steady flight o'er fairest scenes it keeps, 

Tho' perfume breathes from every sunlit bower ; 
Earth knows no charm its onward course to stay ; 
It takes no rest, it passeth on alway. 

Lord, are we likened to this fleeting wind ? 

To quit this earthly life we do not grieve ; 
But must the yearning spirit leave behind 

The dear and true whom it is death to leave ? 
Sure, our strong hearts' deep love can never fail 
As part and break the clouds before the gale. 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 85 

Only the mortal frame can fade and die ; 

All that is worthy of a spirit's love 
Shall cleave to us throughout eternity, 

Shall dwell with us in far bright worlds above : 
Here if pains, partings, sorrows, cares molest, 
Swift flight is ours — before us lies our rest. 

Here are we severed far ; Thou seest. Lord, 
How each in lonely course is onward driven. 

Thy righteousness, Thy love. Thy strength afford, 
So shalt Thou gather us to meet in Heaven : 

And us, Thy wandering winds, Thou then shalt own, 

Hush'd into still pure air, around Thy Throne. 

F. V. FOSBERY 



FRIDAY 

NOT as He was, a houseless stranger, 
With no home to shield His head. 
Not as seen in Bethlehem's manger, 
Where the horned oxen fed. 

Not as in the garden groaning, 
Plunged in deep mysterious woe. 

All the guilt of man bemoaning. 
While the precious blood-sweats flow. 

Not as seen on Calvary's mountain, 
Where He offered up His soul. 
Opening wide that sacred fountain 
AVhich alone can make us whole. 

Not as He was, a pale and breathless 
Captive in the shades beneath, 

But as He is, immortal, deathless, 
Conqueror o'er the powers of death ! 



86 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Yes, we shall see Him in our nature, 

Seated on His lofty Throne, 
Loved, adored by every creature, 

Own'd as God, and God alone ! 

There countless hosts of shining spirits 
Strike their harps, and loudly sing 

To the praise of Jesus' merits. 
To the glory of their King ! 

When we pass o'er death's dark river, 

We shall see Him as He is, 
Resting in His love and favour, 

Owning all the glory His. 

There to cast our crowns before Him, 
O ! what bliss the thought affords ! 

There for ever to adore Him, — 
King of kings, and Lord of lords ! 

Mary Pyper 



SATURDAY 

THE God of Nature and of Grace 
In all His works appears ; 
On earth His goodness we can trace, 
His grandeur in the spheres. 

Behold this fair and fertile globe. 
By Him in wisdom planned ; 

'Twas He Who girded like a robe 
The ocean round the land. 

Lift to the firmament your eye. 
Thither God's path pursue ; 

His glory, boundless as the sky, 
O'erwhelms the wondering view. 



SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY 87 

The forests in His strength rejoice ; 

Hark ! how on th' evening breeze, 
As once of old, the Lord God's voice 

Is heard among the trees. 

Here on the hills He feeds His herds. 

His flocks on yonder plains ; 
His praise is warbled by the birds ; 

Would we could catch their strains ! 

In every stream His bounty flows, 

Diflusing joy and wealth ; 
In every breeze His spirit blows 

The breath of life and health. 

Let wisdom then God's wisdom trace : — 

For such our God will love, 
Who make their hearts a dwelling place 

For wisdom from above. 

James Montgomery 



SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY 

WHAT men call Nature is a Thought Divine, 
The Infinite in forms of finite grace ; 
Where all perfections seen in God combine 
To make this earth a consecrated place. 

Th' unwritten Bible of the woods and fields 
By Love perused, and ponder'd o'er by prayer, 

A very Gospel to the Poet yields. 

Who walks creation, knowing Christ is there. 



88 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Nothing is mean, by Power celestial made, 

And nought is worthless, by His wisdom plann'd, 

Who fashion'd all, that Faith may find displayed 
The holy impress of God's m.aster-hand. 

Oh, could we hail the element divine, 

That circles round whatever lives or moves, 

A mystic radiance would o'er all things shine. 
And teach the coldest how the Godhead loves ! 

One vast cathedral, with its roof of sky, 
The earth becomes to reverential souls, 

When, deepen'd by such felt divinity, 

Our heart-breathed hymn of ceaseless worship 
rolls. 

But like a cloud doth sensual dimness hide 
The heaven-born glories that around us gleam. 

While min'st'ring Angels to and fro may glide, 
And yet not wake us from our worldly dream. 

Lord ! may Thy Spirit to our spirit lend 
A princely heart of innocence and prayer, 

Whose unction shall the sacred feeling send. 
That proves at every pulse our God is there. 

Robert Montgomery 



MONDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

F^ROM out all Nature is one common voice, 
Unchanging and unchanged, for ever heard. 
Singing, " In God alone let all rejoice," 

Like some sweet harp by one strong impulse 
stirr'd. 



TUESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 89 

So sang the sinless world, when new-born light 
Threw holy shadows on a new-born earth ; 

So echoed back the first star-spangled night, 
Chanting sweet anthems of its heavenly birth. 

Earth, sea, and sky proclaim the holy truth, 
The universe, a temple open wide — 

Where Nature, priestess sacred, from her youth 
For ever sings the song beatified. 

The sun and moon, unfading lights, still shine, 
With all the lesser glories of the sky ; 

The changing seasons, acolyths divine, 
Attend upon the great festivity. 

From many an altar, undisturbed and still — 
Sweet shrines so calm, through many a troublous 
age 

Unfound by man — the incense-flowers fill 

The air with scent through their short pilgrimage. 

All telling the same truth — their simple creed, 
The type of that which saints and martyrs teach 

By many a noble act and sacred deed 

And sufferings more eloquent than speech. 

T. Marsland Hopkins 



TUESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine, 
My temple, Lord ! that arch of Thine, 
My censer's breath the mountain airs. 
And silent thoughts my only prayers. 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves. 
When murmuring homeward to their caves, 



90 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Or when the stillness of the sea, 

E'en more than music, breathes of Thee ! 

I'll seek by day some glade unknown. 
All light and silence like Thy Throne, 
And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 

Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of Thy wondrous Name. 

I'll read Thy anger in the rack 

That clouds awhile the day-beam's track : 

Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through ! 

There's nothing bright above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow, 
But in its light my soul can see 
Some feature of Thy Deity ! 

There's nothing dark below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace Thy love ; 
And meekly wait that moment when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again. 

Thomas Moore 



WEDNESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

SINCE o'er Thy footstool here below 
Such radiant gems are strewn. 
Oh, what magnificence must glow. 
My God, about Thy Throne ! 



THURSDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 91 

So brilliant here those drops of light, — 
There the full ocean rolls, how bright ! 

If night's blue curtain of the sky 
With thousand stars inwrought, 

Hung like a royal canopy 

With glittering diamonds fraught, 

Be, Lord, Thy temple's outer veil, 

What splendour at the shrine must dwell ! 

The dazzling sun at noontide hour, 

Forth from his flaming vase, 
Flinging o'er earth the golden shower. 

Till vale and mountain blaze, 
But shows, O Lord ! one beam of Thine : 
What, then, the day where Thou dost shine ! 

Ah ! how shall these dim eyes endure 

That noon of living rays. 
Or how my spirit so impure 

Upon Thy glory gaze ? 
Anoint, O Lord ! anoint my sight, 
And robe me for that world of light. 

W. A. Muhlenberg 



THURSDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

THE stately heavens, which glory doth array, 
Are mirrors of God's admirable might ; 
There, whence forth spreads the night forth springs 

the day ! 
He fix'd the fountains of this temporal light, 



92 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Where stately stars install'd, some stand, some 

stray, 
All sparks of His great power (though small, yet 

bright), 
By what none utter can, no, not conceive. 
All of His greatness, shadows may perceive. 

What glorious lights through crystal lanterns glance, 
(As always burning with their Maker's love ;) 
Spheres keep one music, they one measure dance. 
Like influence below, like course above ; 
And all by order led, not drawn by chance, 
With majesty, as still in triumph move. 
And, liberal of their store, seem shouting thus, 
"Look up all souls, and gaze on God through us." 

God visibly invisible Who reigns, 
Soul of all souls. Whose light each light directs. 
All first did freely make, and still maintains, 
The greatest rules, the meanest not neglects ; 
Foreknows the end of all that He ordains, 
His will each course, each course breeds fit effects ; 
Who did make all, ail thus could only lead. 
None could make all, but Who was never made. 
William Alexander, Earl of Stirling 



FRIDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

YE quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright, 
Untroubled sentries of the shadowy night. 
While half the world is lapp'd in downy dreams. 
And round the lattice creep your midnight beams, 
How sweet to gaze upon your placid eyes. 
In lambent beauty looking from the skies ! 



SATURDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 93 

And when, oblivious of the world, we stray 
At dead of night along some noiseless way, 
How the heart mingles with the moonlit hour, 
As if the starry heavens suffused a power ! 
Full in her dreamy light, the moon presides, 
Shrined in a halo, mellowing as she rides ; 
And far around, the forest and the stream 
Bathe in the beauty of her emerald beam ; 
The lull'd winds too, are sleeping in their caves, 
No stormy murmurs roll upon the waves ; 
Nature is hush'd, as if her works adored, 
Still'd by the presence of her living Lord ! 
And now, while through the ocean-mantling haze 
A dizzy chain of yellow lustre plays, 
And moonlight loveliness hath veil'd the land, 
Go, stranger, muse thou by the wave-worn strand : 
Centuries have glided o'er the balanced earth, 
Myriads have bless'd, and myriads curs'd their birth, 
Still, yon sky-beacons keep a dimless glare, 
Unsullied as the God Who throned them there ! 
Though swelling earthquakes heave the astounded 

world. 
And king and kingdom from their pride are hurled, 
Sublimely calm, they run their bright career, 
Unheedful of the storms and changes here. 
We want no hymn to hear, or pomp to see, 
For all around is deep Divinity ! 

R.OBERT Montgomery 



SATURDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 

MY soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage. 
Wherein she wears her weary pilgrimage 
Of hours, as few as evil, daily fed 
With sacred wine and sacramental bread ; 



94 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The keys that lock her in and let her out, 

Are birth and death ; 'twixt both she hops about 

From perch to perch, from sense to reason ; then 

From higher reason down to sense again : 

From sense she climbs to faith ; where for a season 

She sits and sings ; then down again to reason : 

From reason back to faith, and straight from thence 

She rudely flutters to the perch of sense : 

From sense to hope; then hops from hope to 

doubt. 
From doubt to dull despair ; there seeks about 
For desp'rate freedom, and at ev'ry grate 
She wildly thrusts, and begs the untimely date 
Of th' unexpired thraldom, to release 
The afflicted captive, that can find no peace. 
Thus am I coop'd ; within this fleshly cage 
I wear my youth, and waste my weary age ; 
Spending that breath, which was ordain'd to chant 
Heav'n's praises forth, in sighs and sad complaint. 

Francis Quarles 



SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY 

ERST in Eden's happy garden 
Grew the golden Tree of Life, 
None who eat it pined or perish'd, 
Knew of sin, or care, or strife ; 
For the Word of God had made it 

To the pure Eternal Food. 
Daily bread for Life's renewal 
To the faithful and the good. 

Hard by grew the Tree of Knowledge, 
Duty's test man's trust to try. 



MONDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 95 

And give zest to mere enjoyment 

By some proof of fealty : 
Life to life — of one the savour, 

Death to death — the other's bane, 
Love's obedience — with its pleasure, 

Disobedience — with its pain. 

Eating of the Tree of Knowledge 

Death on Life insidious stole, 
Through the body the infection 

Pass'd like poison to the soul : 
Yet 'twas not the fruit's corruption 

Stay'd Life's pulse or stopt its breath, 
'Twas the soul's dark Disobedience 

Made that Sacrament of Death. 



Eating of Life's Tree Eternal 

Makes the dying sinner whole, 
Through the body Life's renewal 

Comes with healing to the soul : 
Yet the body's mere fruition 

Stays not Death, nor stops its strife ; 
'Tis the soul's devout Obedience 

Takes that Sacrament of Life. 

John S. B. Monsell 



MONDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

O BLESSING, wearing semblance of a curse. 
We fear thee, thou stern sentence — yet to be 
Linked to immortal bodies were far worse 
Than thus to be set free. 



96 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

For, mingling with the Hfe-blood, thro' each vein 
The venom of the serpent's bite has run, 

And only thus might be expelled again, 
Thus only health be won. 



Shall we not then a gracious sentence own. 
Now since the leprosy has fretted through 

The entire house, that Thou wilt take it down, 
And build it all anew ? 



Build it this time (since Thou wilt build again) 
An holy house where righteousness may dwell ; 

And we, though in the unbuilding there be pain, 
We still affirm— 'Tis well. 

Richard Chenevix Trench 



TUESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

THE Tree of Life in Eden stood 
With mystic Fruits of Heavenly Food, 
Which endless life afford, — 
That Life, by man's transgression lost : — 
Cast out is man by Angel-host : 
Until by Man restored. 

In vain the lambs poured forth their blood ; 
In vain the smoking altars stood ; 

All unatoned was sin : 
Must greater be the sacrifice 
Before the gate of Paradise 

Can let the fallen in ? 



WEDNESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

The Lord of Life His Life must give 
That man an endless Life may live, 

And death's dark doom reverse. 
The Cross is made the mystic Tree, * 
The Blood that flowed on Calvary ' 

Hath washed away the curse. 

Now Eden's gate is ope'd once more • 
The guardian Angel's watch is o'er, ' 

And sheathed the flaming sword : 
The Tree of Life now blooms afresh, 
Its precious Fruit the very Flesh 

Of the Incarnate Word. 

Edwin L. Blenkinsopp 



WEDNESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

CENT from the ark, the dove, with timid flight 
^ Strove through the storms, yet found not 

where to light ; 
Pursued by winds o'er restless ocean's roar 
Back to the flood-tossed crew no leaf she bore • 
bo through the past man's tempest-driven mind, 
bent fancy forth some resting-place to find • 

S^% u' 1?? ^^"' '^^ ^^"g^^ her trackless way 
Nor foothold found her weary flight to stay • 
Back o'er the sea on terror-haunted air, 
bhe flew, to tell the tidings of despair • 
Again she flies for fairer forms to seek' 
And lo ! the olive borne upon her beak ' 
Hear her glad news,-she rested on the tomb 
Saw the dawn break, and flit the ancient gloom f 
Through night she swept, and heard the gentle fall 
Ut Angel footsteps in its silent hall : 



97 



98 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Upborne from earth, in strong and joyous flight, 
Fearless she sought the empyrean height, 
Gazed on the source whence pours the living ray, 
On earth's time-shadows, God's eternal day. 

John Brooks Fellon 



THURSDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

THREE worlds there are : — the first of Sense- 
That sensuous earth which round us lies ; 
The next of Faith's Intelligence : 
The third of Glory in the skies. 

The first is palpable, but base : 
The second heavenly, but obscure ; 

The third is star-like in the face — 
But ah ! remote that world as pure ! 

Yet, glancing through our misty clime, 
Some sparkles from that loftier sphere 

Make way to earth ; then most what time 
The annual spring flowers appear. 

Amid the coarser needs of earth 

All shapes of brightness, what are they 

But wanderers, exiled from their birth. 
Or pledges of a happier day ? 

Yea, what is Beauty, judged aright. 
But some surpassing, transient gleam ; 

Some smile from Heaven, in waves of light. 
Rippling o'er life's distempered dream ? 



FRIDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 99 

Or broken memories of that bliss 

Which rushed through first-born Nature's blood 
When He Who ever was, and is, 

Looked down, and saw that all was good ? 

Sir Aubrey De Vere 



FRIDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

jVJ OUGHT see we here as yet in full perfection, 
^ ^ Nought reachmg yet unto its true ideal • 

,f.u ? ,T ^^'^^^^^ ^^§^t ^s that connexion, ' 
Which knitted once the perfect to the real. 

Eadi form of loveliness, each fair creation 
Hath yet a type more true and brighter far 

And we must trace in all the dim relation ' 
And what they might be, learn from what thev 
are. -^ 

Thus every character, whate'er its sweetness 
Is but the fruit all blighted and unripe ' 

Still ever striving towards its own completeness 
btill ever yearnmg towards its highest type. ' 

And only as we know and love them duly 
As buds and blossoms of a fairer growth 

Shall we learn how to weigh and prize them trulv 
And trace the true unto the highest truth. 

Though lost and fallen is our perfect bein^ 

Its beauty 'mid its ruins we may see 
And strive we still, the fair completeness seeing 

lo reach once more the highest we can be. 



100 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And strive we, following in our love and duty 
Him Who doth noblest, truest, purest shine, 

Who raised our human to its highest beauty, 
By blending with it His own bright divine. 

L. R. 



SATURDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 

I HEARD the voice of harpers, harping sweetly 
On harps of gold : 
I saw a crystal River — calmly, widely 
Its waters rolled. 

I caught the flash of turrets, wrapt in splendour 

Of sunless light. 
Like to a star most lustrous, shedding glory 

Out of the night. 

I dreamed of Lands Elysian, emerald Islands 

In shining seas. 
Soft perfumes wafted by sweet-whispering breezes 

From fadeless trees. 

I saw the ranks of Angels, silver-pinioned 

And golden-crowned. 
Swift radiant Forms, that like a sunbeam passing 

Touched the bright ground. 

I saw the ancient worthies. Heroes saintly. 

Resting in calm. 
Clad in white robes, out of great tribulation 

Bearing the palm. 



QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY loi 

I saw a King in beauty, cloud-encircled, 

Shrouded in light. 
The likeness of a Throne, a Sea of glory 

Dazzling all sight. 

A voice as of great waters — myriads falling 

Low on the sod : 
A silence : harps struck louder : Seraphs 

Singing " Glory to God ! " 

Charles Lawrence Ford 



QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY 

C"" OD doth not leave His own : 
^ The night of weeping for a time may last, 
Then, tears all past, 
His going forth shall as the morning shine. 
The sunrise of His favour shall be thine : 
God doth not leave His own. 

God doth not leave His own ; 
Though few and evil all their days appear, 

Though grief and fear 
Come in the train of earth and hell's dark crowd, 
The trusting heart says even in the cloud, 

God doth not leave His own. 

God doth not leave His own ; 
This sorrow in their life He doth permit, 

Yea, chooseth it. 
To speed His children on their heavenward way. 
He guides the winds. — Faith, hope, and love all 
say 

God doth not leave His own. 



102 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



FATHER of nations! what high thoughts 
endued 
And armed thy soul with matchless fortitude, 
Walking with God, in tranquil wisdom strong. 
Mid turbulence, and violence, and wrong ? 
Sole star, descried in that tempestuous night, 
Sole thing of life in that o'erwhelming blight ! 

It was the stronger Man, Eve's promised Son, 
Bound Death's strong arm within thee, and put on 
The armour : it was Christ in thee enshrined, 
Stretching imploring hands to lost mankind. 
In thee His feet found "rest" amid the gloom, 
Noah, great name of Comfort ! ^ Ivights illume 
The darkness where He comes with thee to stay ; 
And on th' horizon's verge, a heavenly ray 
Surrounds thee, while the black, baptismal flood 
Seems but to lift thee, in thy solitude. 
Nearer th' ethereal hall, to walk among 
The stars of Heaven ; — such hopes to Faith belong. 

In that frail bark, Christ, our Emmanuel, 
Is passing o'er that more than ocean's swell. 
Where seas and skies the gathering darkness fills, 
Bearing His own to the celestial Hills. 

Isaac Williams 



MONDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA 

STILL young and fine ! but what is still in view 
We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and 
new. 
How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye 
Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry ! 

^ Noah, i.e., ** rest or comfort." See margin, Gen. v. 29. 



TUESDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA 103 

When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, 

The youthful world's grey fathers in one knot, 

Did with intentive looks watch every hour 

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! 

When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and 

fair. 
Storms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air. 
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours 
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and jflowers. 
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine ! the sure tie 
Of thy Lord's hand, the object of His eye ! 
When I behold thee, though my light be dim. 
Distant, and low, I can in thine see Him, 
Who looks upon thee from His glorious Throne, 
And minds the covenant 'twixt all and One. 

Henry Vaughan 



TUESDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA 

GOOD and great God ! Can I not think of 
Thee, 
But it must straight my melancholy be ? 
Is it interpreted in me disease, 
That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease ? 
O be Thou witness, that the reins dost know 
And hearts of all, if I be sad for show ; 
And judge me after, if I dare pretend 
To aught but grace or aim at other end. 
As Thou art all, so be Thou all to me, 
First, midst, and last, converted One and Three ! 
My faith, my hope, my love : and, in this state. 
My judge, my witness, and my advocate ! 
Where have I been this while exiled from Thee, 
And whither rapt, now Thou but stoop'st to me ? 



104 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Dwell, dwell here still ! O, being everywhere, 
How can I doubt to find Thee ever here ? 
I know my state, both full of shame and scorn. 
Conceived in sin and unto labour born, 
Standing with fear, and must with horror fall. 
And destined unto judgment, after all. 
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground 
Upon my flesh to inflict another wound ; — 
Yet dare I not complain or wish for death, 
With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breath 
Of discontent : or that these prayers be 
For weariness of life, not love of Thee. 

Ben Jonson 



THE SEASON OF LENT 

WELCOME, dear feast of Lent : who loves 
not thee, 
He loves not Temperance, or Authority, 

But is composed of passion. 
The Scriptures bid us fast : the Church says, now : 
Give to thy Mother what thou wouldst allow 
To every Corporation. 

The humble soul composed of love and fear, 
Begins at home and lays the burden there 

When doctrines disagree : 
He says, in things which use hath justly got, 
I am a scandal to the Church, and not 

The Church is so to me. 

True Christians should be glad of ah occasion 
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion 



THE SEASON OF LENT 105 

When good is seasonable ; 
Unless Authority, which should increase 
The obligation in us, make it less 

And Power itself disable. 

Besides the cleanness of sweet Abstinence, 
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, 

A face not fearing light : 
Whereas in fulness there are sluttish fumes, 
Sour exhalations and dishonest rheums 

Revenging the delight. 

Then those same pendant profits, which the Spring 
And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing 

And goodness of the deed. 
Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent 
Spoil the good use ; lest by the argument 

We forfeit all our Creed. 

'Tis true we cannot reach Christ's fortieth day ; 
Yet to go part of that religious way 

Is better than to rest : 
We cannot reach our Saviour's purity ; 
Yet we are bid, " Be holy e'en as He." 

In both let's do our best. 

Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, 
Is much more sure to meet with Him, than one 

That travelleth by-ways. 
Perhaps my God, though He be far before, 
May turn, and take me by the hand, and more. 

May strengthen my decays. 

Yet, Lord, instruct us to improve our fast 
By starving sin, and taking such repast 



io6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

As may our faults control : 
That every man may revel at his door, 
Not in his parlour ; banqueting the poor, 

And among those his soul. 

George Herbert 



ASH WEDNESDAY 

O WORSHIPPER, who at the break of morn 
Movest sedately through the quiet street, 
Seeking thy Lord's Communion, think no scorn. 

E'en at the cast-out ashes thou dost meet 
Lying at every door ! They are not void 

Of fruitful parable. Only last night 
Both rich and poor, aged and young, enjoyed 

No boon more eagerly. Radiantly bright 
They burned and shone in many a hearth and 
spread 

A treasured influence of warmth and life. 
But see to-day they lie before thee dead 

And cheerless : yea, unspeakably at strife 
With loveliness and joy, till thou dost shrink 

And turn thine eyes. Yet, ere thou reach thy 
goal, 
Look on them once again and, pausing, think : — 

" Here is pourtrayed a mystery of the soul ! 
E'en thus the passions burn with tempting glow, 

Attracting all : yet, as these homely fires 
Lie quenched and dismal, I can surely know 

Much more the alluring flame of wrong desire 
Shall pine away and, dying, leave behind 

Repulsive ashes in the jaded heart ! " 
So guide thy thoughts and fix within thy mind 

To conquer Sin ; then speed to take thy part 



THURSDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 107 

Before the Altar. He, Who safely brought 
Those children from the furnace, draweth near 

To rescue thee in word and deed and thought 
From the dread ardours thou hast learnt to fear ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



THURSDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 

MAN is a busy thing, and he 
Will deal in all sorts of affairs, 
Weighty and trivial ; each may be, 
The subject of his greatest cares ; 
But this shall my employment be. 
Still to be busied. Lord, with Thee. 

Some are all spirit, and will fly 

At nothing lower than a throne ; 

The proudest spires of dignity 

They, in their hopes, have made their own : 

But this shall my employment be. 

To seek my honour all from Thee. 

Some that are sprung from coarser clay 

Adore a paint-disguised face. 

And daily their devotion pay 

To spotted beasts, or else as base : 

But this shall my employment be. 

Daily to serve and wait on Thee. 

Some so enhance the price of gold, 
They judge their souls to be but dross ; 
And are so saving that they hold 
The air, the breath, a mighty loss : 
But this shall my employment be, 
I will love nothing like to Thee. 



io8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Some are so loyal to the book 
Till they can criticise, and tell 
How many steps old Time has took 
Since our great father Adam fell : 
But this shall my employment be, 
Better to know myself and Thee. 



FRIDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 

NOW are the days of humblest prayer, 
When consciences to God lie bare, 
And mercy most dehghts to spare. 
Oh ! hearken when we cry, 

Chastise us with Thy fear ; 
Yet, Father ! in the multitude 
Of Thy compassions hear ! 

Now is the season, wisely long, 
Of sadder thought and graver song. 
When ailing souls grow well and strong. 
Oh ! hearken when we cry, 

Chastise us with Thy fear ; 
Yet, Father ! in the multitude 
Of Thy compassions hear ! 

The feast of penance ! oh, so bright 
With true conversion's heavenly light, 
Like sunrise after stormy night ! 
Oh ! hearken when we cry, 

Chastise us with Thy fear ; 
Yet, Father ! in the multitude 
Of Thy compassions hear ! 



SATURDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 109 

We who have loved the world must learn 
Upon that world our backs to turn ; 
And with the love of God to burn. 
Oh ! hearken when we cry, 

Chastise us with Thy fear ; 
Yet, Father ! in the multitude 
Of Thy compassions, hear ! 

Frederick William Faber 



SATURDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 

IT is not heavy, agonizing woe, 
Bearing me down with hopeless, crushing load, 
Not reputation lost, nor friends betrayed — 
That such is not my cross I thank my God. 

It is not sickness with her withering hand, 
Keeping me low upon a couch of pain, 
Longing each morning for the weary night, — 
At night for weary day to come again. 

Mine is a daily cross of petty cares, 
Of daily duties pressing on my heart, 
Of little troubles hard to reconcile. 
Of inward struggles — overcome in part. 

My feet are weary in their daily round. 
My heart is weary of its daily care. 
My sinful nature often doth rebel ; 
I pray for grace my daily cross to bear. 

It is not heavy, Lord, yet oft I pine ; 

It is not heavy, but 'tis everywhere, 

By day and night each hour my cross I bear ; 

I dare not lay it down — Thou keep'st it there. 



no CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I dare not lay it down, I only ask 
That, taking up my daily cross, I may 
Follow my Master humbly, step by step 
Through clouds and darkness unto perfect day. 



THE FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT 

HOW long and deep the shadows of our Lent, 
Flung o'er its penitential forty days, 
With here and there a ray of sunshine sent 

From Sunday's gladness and its burst of praise 

Our sins and sorrows, like some surging tide, 
Wave after wave, beat o'er our struggling life, 

The deeds of darkness that we fain would hide — 
The broken vow, the fainting in the strife. 

Helpless and sad, O Christ, we come to Thee ! 

Thou for our sake wast to the desert led, 
Unharmed didst cross temptation's stormy sea. 

That we, Thy children, might be comforted. 

In all points tempted, e'en as we are now, 
O Man Divine ! like to Thy brethren made, 

The thorny crown girdled Thy sacred Brow, 
That weary hearts might look to Thee for aid. 

Thy Cross, upreared on Calvary's altar high. 
The nail-print, and the Side so rudely riven. 

The mid-day darkness and the piercing cry. 
Tell the glad story of our sin forgiven. 

Thus to our hearts the long, long gloom of Lent, 
Leading us on to Easter's brightest glow. 

Becomes a living type and sacrament 
Of all God's discipline of love below. 



FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT iii 

The bitter first, and then the endless sweet. 

The hard, rough way, and then the golden floor, 

The fiery furnace, then nor sun nor heat. 

The Cross, and then the Crown for evermore. 

Robert Hall Baynes 



WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

" f'^ ET thee hence, Satan ! " at His withering look 
^^ Hell's tottering kingdom to its centre shook ; 
While from the myriad Angel hosts on high 
Burst forth loud shouts of praise and victory. 
'Gainst man the fiend had tried his worst in vain 
And hope for ruined man shone forth again. 
Dismayed, undone, the baffled tempter fled, 
In lowest hell to hide his bruised head ; 
Crippled his power, his reign of darkness o'er, 
The kingdoms of this world his own no more. 
Yet not unscathed the Conqueror in the strife. 
Who there had won for unborn millions life ; 
Crushed was the foe beneath His conquering tread. 
But bruised the Victor's heel by that foul head. 
As Man, not God, He fought in that dark hour. 
And braved alone the tempter's utmost power ; 
The Woman's Seed, the Virgin's mighty Son, 
As Man had fought, as Man the victory won ; 
Wielding that sword alone which man can wield, 
Quenching the fiery darts with man's own shield. 
And still as Man, with fasting faint and worn, 
His inmost soul by that fierce conflict torn ; 



112 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Alone He stands upon the mountain now, 
Cold drops of anguish on His suffering brow, 
Sadly foreshadowing that tremendous night, 
When drops of blood should start in deadlier fight. 
Alone ? no, not alone, for swift draw near 
Bright Angel forms, to strengthen and to cheer ; 
To minister to all His wants and woes. 
And soothe His weary form in calm repose. 

Sophie F. F. Veitch 



TUESDAY 

WHEN first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul 
leave 
To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 

The spirit's duty : true hearts spread and heave 
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ; 

Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou 

keep 
Him company all day, and in Him sleep. 

Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should 
Dawn with the day : these are set awful hours 

'Twixt Heav'n and us ; the manna was not good 
After sun-rising ; far day sullies flowers : 

Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut. 

And Heaven's gate opens when the world's is 
shut. 

Walk with thy fellow creatures : note the hush 
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring 

Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush 
And oak doth know I Am. — Canst thou not sing ? 

O leave thy cares and follies ! go this way 

And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 

Henry Vaughan 



FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT 113 



WEDNESDAY 

BOAST of thine honours, wealth, and power, 
Thy triumphs vast, and victory's dower, — 
Prate of thy gains, thy sensual ease, 
Thy mirth, and thy festivities, — 
Fill thy heart big with subtle pride, 
By rusthng dignity supplied ; — 
Yet hear the words of Wisdom plead, 
"Amen, thou hast received thy meed." 

But, as for me, I will not seek 
For aught but this — a conscience meek. 
This is the season God hath given. 
To rise from earth, to work for Heaven. 
This is the time, by mortal strife, 
To win an entrance into life, — 
Here we must labour, toil, and weep, 
Here we must nurse contrition deep. 

Here must we labour, war, and fight, — 
This is no time for triumph bright. 
Here we are in the battle-field. 
Here watch lest we should fail and yield. 
It is no time to speak of gains. 
While struggling with our iron chains. 
When death is come, and battle done, 
Then may we rest, — and then alone ! 



THURSDAY 

OT ashes on the head. 

But ashes on the heart, O Lord 
To check the bursting flame of sinful pride, 
The vivid embers of fierce worldly thought, 

H 



N 



114 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

By worldly passion fed, — 
This is the fast Thy holy Word 
Proclaims, — the better proof that we have died 
To sin, and our wild fires to due subjection brought. 

Not tearfulnesB of eye, 
Nor sign of sorrow on the cheek, 
Blighted and furrowed all with briny woe : — 
But Thou dost rather choose the hidden tear, 
The broken contrite sigh 
Of troubled spirits Thou dost seek 
For grief that may the deep heart overflow ; 
So best to Thy keen eye doth the heart's truth 
appear. 

Not sackcloth, but instead 
The better sign of penitence, 
The stole of purity, the pilgrim weeds 
Hung thick around the faint and erring soul. 
Contrition's sting for bed 
Of thorns — the keen awaken'd sense 
Of vows long since forgot, of heartless deeds 
Doing or done — of hopes that own not faith's 
control. 

The pamper'd flesh subdued, 
The open'd fount of charity, 
The veil that " from our own flesh hides " us close 
Remov'd, and kindly beams of comfort dealt 
At large for others' good — 
This " the fast to sanctify " : — 
Not unacceptable to Him Who knows 
How long, how low in faith the breaking heart 
has knelt. 

H. K. C. 



FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT 115 



FRIDAY 

MY God, to keep my heart, 
That it from Thee may never start, 
I know is Thy dread will, 
But how shall I that task fulfil ? 
The traitor with my rebel lusts will mix, 
And 'tis beyond my power the mercury to fix. 

My heart inclines to bliss. 

Yet studies the straight way to miss : 

My thoughts are loose and vain 

When I most strive them to restrain ; 

They fly at random all the world about, 

And render my best prayers careless and indevout. 

Opinions false onewhile 

My fond credulity beguile ; 

In a mistaken way 

With pertinaciousness I stray ; 

I no destructive consequences heed. 

Am harder to reclaim the farther I proceed. 

Sin the internal cells 

Invades, where my remembrance dwells ; 

Past foul ideas there 

In lively colours pictured are ; 

When to recall truths heavenly I design'd. 

Things sensual overspread the surface of my mind. 

My God, Thou only art 
Able to know, keep, rule, the heart ; 
Oh, make my heart Thy care. 
Which I myself to keep despair ! 
No rebels then will garrison my breast ; 
Beneath Almighty wings my heart will live at rest. 

Thomas Ken 



ii6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

THERE is a time to fast, 
Which Christ hath sanctified, 
Shadowed of ages past 
For them who to" the world have died. 

Let there be holy guard 
O'er word, and food, and sleep, 
That in her widowed ward 
The soul her strictest watch may keep. 

That so she best within 
Her rebel lusts may quell. 
Lest the dark foe, unseen, 
Steal in and seize the citadel. 

Let us bow down and weep, 
Ere yet it be too late. 
His path with tears to steep 
Before the Judge be at the gate. 

Tremendous Judge, e'en now 
Our crimes like mountains rise. 
But yet a Father Thou, 
And mightier are Thy clemencies. 

Frail as the potter's clay. 
Yet by Thy work are we : 
Oh, leave us not a prey 
For whom Christ paid the penalty. 

Heal us from all our sin. 
Restore us to our place, 
With contrite hearts to win 
Thine all abounding, pitying grace. 

Isaac Williams 



SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 117 



THE SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 

" TT AVE mercy on me, Lord ! " 
-n. She followed Him, and cried ; and when 
there came 
No answer, follow'd, crying still the same, — 
" Have mercy on me, Lord ! " 

" Send her away," they said — 
They who should be dispensers of His grace, 
Would have Him turn from her who sought His 
face : 

" Send her away," they said. 

He spoke their thought aloud — 
" It is not meet to take the children's bread 
And cast it to the dogs " — as if He said, 

*' How poor ye are and proud." 

" Yea, Lord, and yet the dogs 
Eat of the crumbs that from the children fall," 
She pleaded — " And there is enough for all — 

For children and for dogs." 

And He to her replied, 
" Even as thou wilt, so be it unto thee. 
Thy heart the measure of the grace shall be. 

From My rich store supphed." 

She had the thing she would. 
Lord, if I dip my cup into the sea. 
It rises full. Such cup each soul may be, 

Such ocean is Thy good. 



ii8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

THE pilot's skill how can we know 
Till tempests blow ? 
How is that soldier's valour seen 
Which ne'er hath been 
In fight? they scarce true soldiers are 
That have no wound to show, or scar. 

Those soldiers which the general 

Calls out of all 
His army to attempt some great 

And brave exploit, 
Are those sure whom he means to grace 
With honour, and some higher place. 

Except we fight, there is no crown 

And no renown ; 
Unless we sweat in the vineyard, 

There's no reward : 
Unless we climb Mount Calvary, 
Mount Olivet we shall not see. 

Alexander Rosse. 



TUESDAY 



H 



OW long, great God, how long must I 
Immured in this dark prison lie ; 
Where at the grates and avenues of sense, 
My soul must watch to have intelligence ; 



SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 119 

Where but faint gleams of Thee salute my sight, 
Like doubtful moonshine in a cloudy night ; 

When shall I leave this magic sphere. 

And be all mind, all eye, all ear ? 

How cold this clime ! And yet my sense 
Perceives e'en here Thy influence. 
E'en here Thy strong magnetic charms I feel, 
And pant and tremble like the amorous steel. 
To lower good, and beauties less divine, 
Sometimes my erroneous needle does incline ; 
But yet, so strong the sympathy, 
It turns and points again to Thee. 

I long to see this excellence 

Which at such distance strikes my sense. 
My impatient soul struggles to disengage 
Her wings from the confinement of her cage. 
Would'st Thou, great Love, this prisoner once 

set free. 
How would she hasten to be link'd to Thee ! 

She'd for no Angel's conduct stay, 

But fly, and love on all the way. 

John Norris 



WEDNESDAY 

WHAT though we bear a heavy load. 
And have to strive and struggle long, 
We have meanwhile an urging goad 
To soothe its weight, to lull the throng. 

A Harvest of approved repose. 

Fruitful and rich, shall be our gain, 

If meekly we endure our woes. 
And bow to sorrow, loss, or pain. 



120 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Whoe'er would win the crown, must dare 
The weary day of trial and strife ; 

Aye ! unto death thou must prepare, 
If thou wouldst enter into hfe ! 

Yet fear not, coward-like, nor shrink. 
Unnerved too soon, before th' attack, 

Press boldly on, and meanwhile think, 
" Who goes not forward, falleth back." 

Thou hast a path before thee set, 

Fear not to tread, no harm may come 

To him, who spite of toil, and sweat. 
And peril, hastens to his home. — 

There^ all thy suffering repaid. 
Thou shalt repose with tranquil breast; 

And count all strife, and struggle weigh'd 
As nought, against that goodly rest ! 



THURSDAY 

THE sunset falls on Isaac's tent — 
And all the glowing Syrian sky 
Is flooded with a mingled dye 
Of gold, and faintest crimson blent. 

But never more at evening's close 

Her loved son's voice Rebekah hears ; 
That was a true chord to her ears 

More sweet than any music knows. 

And he that shared her fond deceit 

That could not wait the appointed time, 
He feels, by night, the frosty rime, 

By day, the summer's noon-tide heat. 



SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 121 

An exile in another land ; 

And never more his head to rest 

Upon a mother's patient breast, 
And never feel her soothing hand. 

Learn of his sorrow, Christian youth, 

When tempted sore, when right shall seem 
To come by wrong ; nor ever deem 

That Heaven has need of thine untruth. 

Like fountains lost, and traced in vain, 
That blend at last with ocean's blue — 
Like birds that wander winter through, 

But find their summer's nests again, — 

God's ways, though dark, nor understood. 
Shall work His righteous will at last ! 
Keep virtue's path, though clouds o'ercast : 

Nor sin for any seeming good. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



FRIDAY 

HEARE me, O God ! 
A broken heart 
Is my best part : 
Use still Thy rod. 
That I may prove 
Therein Thy love. 

If Thou hadst not 
Beene sterne to me 
But left me free, 

I had forgot 

Myselfe and Thee. 



122 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

For sin's so sweet, 
As minds ill bent 
Rarely repent, 
, Untill they meet 
Their punishment. 

Who more can crave 

Than Thou hast done ? 

That gav'st a Sonne, 
To free a slave : 

First made of nought ; 

Withall since bought. 

Sinne, Death, and Hell 

His glorious Name 

Quite overcame, 
Yet I rebell 

And slight the same. 

But I'll come in 

Before my losse 

Me further tosse, 
As sure to win 

Under His Crosse ! 

Ben Jonson 



M 



SATURDAY 

ERCY, my Judge, mercy, I cry 

With blushing cheek and bleeding eye, 
The conscious colours of my sin 
Are red without and pale within. 

O let Thine own soft bowels pay 
Thyself : and so discharge that day. 
If sin can sigh, love can forgive, 
O say the word, my soul shall live. 



THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 123 

Those mercies which Thy Mary found, 
Or who Thy Cross confessed and crowned, 
Hope tells my heart the same loves be 
Still alive, and still for me. 

Though both my pray'rs and tears combine, 
Both worthless are : for they are mine. 
But Thou Thy bounteous self still be ; 
And show Thou art, by saving me. 

O when Thy last frown shall proclaim 
The flocks of goats to folds of flame. 
And all Thy lost sheep found shall be, 
Let " Come ye blessed " then call me. 

When the dread " Ite " shall divide 
Those limbs of death from Thy left side. 
Let those life-giving lips command 
That I inherit Thy right hand. 

O hear a suppliant heart, all crush'd 
And crumbled into contrite dust. 
My hope, my fear ! my judge, my friend ! 
Take charge of me and of my end. 

Richard Crashaw 



THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 

HOW shall I follow Him I serve? 
How shall I copy Him I love ? 
Nor from those blessed footsteps swerve 
Which lead me to His seat above ? 



124 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn, 
The life of toil, the mean abode, 

The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn. 
Are these the consecrated road ? 

'Twas thus He suffered, though a Son 
Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all, 

Until the perfect work was done. 
And drunk the bitter cup of gall. 

Lord ! should my path through suffering lie 

Forbid it I should e'er repine. 
Still let me turn to Calvary, 

Nor heed my griefs, remembering Thine. 

Oh, let me think how Thou didst leave 

Untasted every pure delight, 
To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve. 

The toilsome day, the homeless night : — 

To faint, to grieve, to die for me ! 

Thou camest not Thyself to please ; 
And, dear as earthly comforts be. 

Shall I not love Thee more than these ? 

Yes ! I would count them all but loss, 
To gain the notice of Thine eye : 

Flesh shrinks and trembles at the cross, 
But Thou canst give the victory. 

JOSIAH CONDER 



THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 125 

WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

INTO some wave, which heedless night-winds 
rock, 
The moon comes down with all her starry flock, 
Her glorious imagery around her brings, 
And forms a temple of celestial things. 
Thus, sweet-souled Joseph, as thy life ran on. 
Each scene disclosed anew the Eternal Son, 
Till all thou didst, on thy meek purpose bent. 
Became in thee divinely eloquent, 
Presenting thee, in all that hurried by. 
The mirror of some holier mystery. 

Tried by the adulterous world, temptation-proof. 
But " numbered with transgressors." Now aloof 
Thou sitt'st on high, — around the heathen press, 
And from thine hand are filled with plenteous- 

ness. 
But who are these ? lift up thine eyes, — behold 
Thy brethren, they who set at nought, and sold ! 
Bid all depart — ye little company. 
Come ye around, behold Me, " It is I," 
Feel Me, fear not ! the prisoner's chain unbind : 
But who is he that lingers yet behind ? 
" Out of due time ! " — let ye the stranger in, 
'Tis Mine own Paul, Mine own loved Benjamin. 

Isaac Williams 



126 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



TUESDAY 

THOUGH clouds be dark and tempests brood 
around, 
Though fairest hopes betray and dreams deceive, 
The mercy of our God is .ever sure ; 
Time cannot bound it, nor can earth confine. 
Nor death destroy, nor the cold grave entomb ; 
But 'twill survive the severance of all ties, 
When time and time's dominion are no more. 
Flowers wither, nature's greenness fades ; whate'er 
Of life or loveliness on earth I view 
Is passing swift away. 

Passing away ! 
And I am passing too ; a little while, 
And the big swelling waves of grief will lie 
In this breast hushed for ever ; o'er my head 
Long plumes of grass will flutter in the breeze, 
While I shall rest, hope's pris'ner, in the grave. 
But joy amid this universal change ! 
One thing ne'er changes 'midst the ebb and surge 
Of time's wild-rocking billows ; like a light 
It burns, and lamps a dying universe 
As with the radiance of immortal day. 
And whispers to my spirit, as I go 
Down into the dull charnel, of the joy 
And endless rapture of the bliss to be. 
It is the loving kindness of my God — 

glorious pledge, seal'd with the Saviour's blood ! 
With His dear promise to assure my soul, 

1 will take heart upon my pilgrim way, 
Inscribing on the battle-flag of life, 
As the heraldic motto of my trust, 

'' Thy mercy is for ever and for ever, 
O God, on all that fear Thy Name ! " 

W. TiDD Matson 



THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 127 



WEDNESDAY 

AS travellers, when the twilight's come, 
And in the sky the stars appear, 
The past day's accidents do summe, 

With " Thus wee saw there and thus here," 

Then, Jacob-like, lodge in a place — 
A place, and no more, is set down — 

Where, till the day restore the race. 

They rest and dream homes of their own, 

So for this night I linger here. 

And, full of tossings to and fro. 
Expect still when Thou wilt appear 

That I may get me up and go. 

I long and groan and grieve for Thee, 
For Thee my words, my tears do gush ; 

Oh ! that I were but where I see ! 
Is all the note within my bush. 

As birds robbed of their native wood, 
Although their diet may be fine. 

Yet neither sing nor like their food. 
But with the thought of home do pine ; 

So do I mourn and hang my head. 

And, though Thou dost me fulness give, 

Yet look I for far better bread. 
Because by this man cannot live. 

O feed me then ! and since I may 

Have yet more days, more nights to count, 

So strengthen me, Lord, all the way, 
That I may travel to Thy Mount. 

Henry Vaughan 



128 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



THURSDAY 

"PEAR not, for He hath sworn : 
-*- Faithful and true His Name 
The glorious hours .are onward borne; 
'Tis lit, th' immortal flame ; 
It glows around thee : kneel, and strive, and win 
Daily one living ray — 'twill brighter glow within. 

Yet fear : the time is brief; 

The Holy One is near ; 
And, like a spent and withered leaf 
In autumn twilight drear, 
Faster each hour, on Time's unslackening gale. 
The dreaming world drives on to where all visions 
fail. 

Surely the time is short : 

Endless the task and art 
To brighten for the ethereal court 
A soil'd, earth-drudging heart.. 
But He, the dread Proclaimer of that hour. 
Is pledged to thee in love, as to thy foes in power. 

His shoulders bear the key : 

He opens — who can close ? 
Closes — and who dare open ? — He 
Thy soul's misgiving knows ; 
If He come quick, the mightier sure will prove 
His spirit in each heart that timely strives to love. 

Then haste Thee, Lord ! come down, 
Take Thy great power, and reign, 

But frame Thee first a perfect crown 
Of spirits freed from stain : — 



THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 129 

Souls mortal once, now matched for evermore 
With the immortal gems that form'd Thy wreath 
before. 

John Keble 

FRIDAY 

IS this a fast, to keep 
The larder lean ? 
And clean 
From fat of veals and sheep ? 

Is it to quit the dish 
Of flesh, yet still 
To fill 
The platter high with fish ? 

Is it to fast an hour. 
Or ragg'd to go. 
Or show 
A downcast look and sour ? 

No : 'tis a fast to dole 
Thy sheaf of wheat. 
And meat, 
Unto the hungry soul. 

It is to fast from strife, 
From old debate 
And hate ; 
To circumcise thy life. 

To show a heart grief-rent ; 
To starve thy sin. 
Not bin ; 
And that's to keep thy Lent. 

Robert Herrick 



I30 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

THERE is a River, deep and broad, 
Its course no mortal knows ; 
It fills with joy the Church of God, 
And widens as it flows. 



Clearer than crystal is the stream, 
And bright with endless day ; 

The waves with every blessing teem, 
And life and health convey. 

Where'er they flow, contentions cease. 
And love and meekness reign : 

The Lord Himself commands the peace, 
And foes conspire in vain. 

Along the shores, Angelic bands 

Watch every moving wave ; 
With holy joy their breast expands. 

When men the waters crave. 

To them distressed souls repair, 
The Lord invites them nigh ; 

They leave their cares and sorrows there. 
They drink, and never die. 

Flow on, sweet Stream, more largely flow, 

The earth with glory fill ; 
Flow on, till all the Saviour know. 

And all obey His will. 

William Hurn 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 131 



THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 

A S one who, toiling up some lofty peak, 
^~^ Pauses to turn his glance where, far below 
The narrow^ winding path his weary feet 

Have trod so long with painful steps and slow. 
First leaves the flowery mead and upward winds ; 

And heaves, perchance, a sigh from vanished 
ease; 
Then upward gazes, where the mountain's brow 

Seems to touch heaven and solve its mysteries, 
And, weariness forgot, strives onward still — 

So we in solemn Lenten-tide look back and on ; 
And if the path of self-denial seems steep, 

And trials, briars that we tread upon. 
Yet when we forward look, all pain is nought, 

For o'er the mountain's brow a beauteous ray 
Breaks on our dazzled sight ; we onward press 

To greet the radiance of Easter Day. 



WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY 
IN LENT 

MONDAY 

IVyTY soul once had its plenteous years, 
-^Vl And grew in peace with plenty filled, 
Like the good kine and ripened ears. 
Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld. 

From day to day, with grace refreshed, 
With means and ordinances fed, 



132 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

How happy for a while I lived ! 
And little feared the want of bread. 

But famine came, and left no sign 

Of all the plenty I had seen ; 

Like the shrunk ears and half-starved kine, 

I then was withered, faint, and lean. 

To Joseph the Egyptians went ; 
To Jesus I made known my case. 
He, when my little store was spent, 
Opened the treasures of His grace. 

For He the time of dearth foresaw, 
And made provision long before ; 
That famished souls, like mine, might draw 
Supplies from His unbounded store. 

Now, on His bounty I depend. 
And live from fear of death secure ; 
Maintained by such a mighty Friend, 
I cannot want, or e'er be poor. 

Come, souls, and hear His gracious call. 
His mercy door stands open wide, 
He has enough to feed you all, 
And none who come will be denied. 

John Newton 



TUESDAY 

IF hasty hand or bitter tongue 
Have ever done you causeless wrong 
By evil deed or word. 
Have no bad thought your heart within, 
For malice is a deadly sin 
And hateful to the Lord. 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 133 

Be yours such thought as Joseph felt, 
When all his haughty brethren knelt, 

As visioned dreams foretold. 
And found, in that Egyptian Lord, 
The Brother whom their hearts abhorred, 

The slave whom they had sold ; 

Then not a tear, but such as pour 
When hearts with love and joy run o'er. 

Then not an angry word he gave. 
But said, " My brothers, weep no more ; 
'Twas God Who sent me on before 

Your dearer lives to save." 

A twofold power Forgiveness hath, 
She softens hearts, she tempers wrath. 

And she is ever strong 
To call a blessing down from Heaven ; 
Christ said, " If ye would be forgiven. 

Forgive your brother's wrong." 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEDNESDAY 

HERE must the Christian onward press. 
Through toil and sweat, through foul and 
fair; 
In days of gladness or distress 
Of looking back he must beware. 

His life of grace must still advance. 

His onward gaze fix'd on the goal. 
With penance, ever new, enhance 

The love and virtue of his soul. 



134 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

There is a strong and running tide 

Sweeps past his boat ; and he who stays 

To rest upon his oars, shall glide 

Unnoticed back from Heaven's grace. 

Still while the haven-is ungain'd, 

Still must be stemm'd the troublous stream, — 
Each nerve be strung, each muscle strain'd, 

If he would gain his precious aim. 

He who stands still, falls back ; how few, 

Alas ! drink in the fearful truth ! 
How many lose, in earth's dull show, 

The glowing fervour of their youth ! 

Then let us on with bold address, 
Unlured by joys, unmoved by woes, 

Until our weary feet shall press 
The haven of our last repose ! 



THURSDAY 

UP to the hills I lift mine eyes, 
The eternal hills beyond the skies ; 
Thence all her help my soul derives, 
There my Almighty Refuge lives. 

He lives, the everlasting God, 
That built the world, that spread the flood ; 
The heavens with all their hosts He made. 
And the dark regions of the dead. 

He guides our feet. He guards our way ; 
His morning smiles bless all the day; 
He spreads the evening veil, and keeps 
The silent hours while Israel sleeps. 



FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 135 

Israel, a name divinely blest, 
May rise secure, securely rest ; 
Thy holy Guardian's wakeful eyes 
Admit no slumber nor surprise. 

No sun shall smite thy head by day, 
Nor the pale moon with sickly ray 
Shall blast thy couch ; no baleful star 
Dart his malignant fire so far. 

Should earth and hell with malice burn. 
Still thou shalt go, and still return. 
Safe in the Lord ; His heavenly care 
Defends thy life from every snare. 

On thee foul spirits have no power ; 
And, in thy last departing hour. 
Angels, that trace the airy road, 
Shall bear thee homeward to thy God. 

Isaac Watts 



FRIDAY 

FLING out the banner ! let it float 
Skyward and seaward, high and wide ; 
The sun shall light its shining folds. 
The Cross on which the Saviour died. 

Fling out the banner ! Angels bend 
In anxious silence o'er the sign ; 

And vainly seek to comprehend 
The wonder of the Love Divine. 

FHng out the banner ! heathen lands 
Shall see from far the glorious sight, 



136 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And nations, crowding to be born, 
Baptize their spirits in its light. 

Fling out the banner ! sin-sick souls 
That sink and perish in the strife. 

Shall touch in faith its radiant hem, 
And spring immortal into life. 

Fling out the banner ! let it float 

Skyward and seaward, high and wide : 

Our glory, only in the Cross ; 
Our only hope, the Crucified ! 

Fling out the banner ! wide and high. 
Seaward and skyward let it shine : 

Nor skill, nor might, nor merit ours ; 
We conquer only in that Sign. 

George Washington Doane 



SATURDAY 

T ESUS, still lead on, 
J Till our rest be won : 
And although the way be cheerless. 
We will follow, calm and fearless : 
Guide us by Thy hand 
To our Fatherland. 

If the way be drear. 

If the foe be near. 
Let not faithless fears o'ertake us. 
Let not faith and hope forsake us ; 

For, through many a foe, 

To our Home we go. 



FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 137 

When we seek relief 

From a long-felt grief^ 
When temptations come alluring, 
Make us patient and enduring : 

Show us that bright shore 

Where we weep no more. 

Jesus, still lead on, 

Till our rest be won. 
Heavenly Leader, still direct us. 
Still support, console, protect us, 

Till we safely stand 

In our Fatherland. 

Jane Borthwick 



THE FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 

I BORE with thee long weary days and nights, 
Through many pangs of heart, through many 
tears ; 
I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, 
For three and thirty years. 

Who else had dared for thee what I have dared ? 

I plunged the depth most deep from bliss 
above ; 
I not My fleshy I not My spirit spared : 

Give thou Me love for love. 

For thee I thirsted in the daily drought. 
For thee I trembled in the nightly frost ; 

Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth ; 
Why wilt thou still be lost ? 



138 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced, 
Men only marked upon My shoulders borne 

The branding Cross : and shouted hungry-voiced, 
Or wagged their heads in scorn. 

Thee did nails grave upon My hands : thy name 
Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine 
eyes : 

I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame 
I, Godj Priest, Sacrifice. 

A thief upon My right hand and My left ; 

Six hours alone, athirst, in misery : 
At length in death one smote My heart, and cleft 

A hiding-place for thee. 

Nailed to the racking Cross, than bed of down 
More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep : 

So did I win a kingdom, — share My crown ; 
A harvest, — come and reap. 

Christina G. Rossetti 



WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY IN 
LENT 

MONDAY 

THOU, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt, 
Rejected and unknown ; 
What bitter grief Thy heart hath felt, 
Endured by Thee alone ! 

But oh ! how full of truth and grace 
Through all Thou dost appear ! 



FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 139 

And thus with wonder we retrace 
Thy path of sorrow here. 

Thou on the Cross didst suffer, too, 
More than man's eye could see ; 

For then the wrath that was our due, 
Was poured, O Lord, on Thee ! 

But Thou art risen ; and now we know 

That Thou, in Heaven above, 
For all God's children here below, 

Dost feel a brother's love. 

Oh, may we ever look to Thee 
For needed grace and strength. 

Till we Thy face in glory see. 
And reign with Thee at length ! 

Till then 'may we, who bear Thy name, 

Thy blest example take, 
And count the world's reproach and shame 

As glory, for Thy sake. 

Since Thou the cup of wrath didst drain, 

None now for us is there ; 
The drops of sorrow that remain, 

Shall we refuse to share ? 

Samuel Prideaux Tregelles 



TUESDAY 

JESUS, these eyes have never seen 
That radiant Form of Thine ; 
The veil of sense hangs dark between 
Thy blessed Face and mine. 



I40 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I see Thee not, I hear Thee not, 

Yet art Thou oft with me ; 
And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot 

As where I meet with Thee. 

Like some bright dream that comes unsought, 

When slumbers o'er me roll. 
Thine image ever fills my thought. 

And charms my ravished soul. 

Yet though I have not seen, and still 

Must rest in faith alone, 
I love Thee, dearest Lord, — and will, 

Unseen, but not unknown. 

When death these mortal eyes shall seal, 

And still this throbbing heart. 
The rending veil shall Thee reveal. 

All glorious as Thou art. 

Ray Palmer 



WEDNESDAY 

JESUS ! my loving Lord, I know. 
How much my welfare stands. 
In loss or cross for Thee, below. 
Therefore I'm in Thy hands ; 
Do aught that seemeth good to Thee, 
But hide not Thou Thyself from me. 

'Tis not the wilderness I dread. 

Its peril or its pain ; 
No pathway Thou didst ever tread, 

But, with its grief, hath gain : 
I can bear all, so it may be, 

Thou wilt not hide Thyself from me. 



FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 141 

And well I know Thou dost not love 

That gentle face to hide ; 
Save when 'tis needful, Thou shouldst prove, 

Or mercy, Thou shouldst chide : 
I know the pain it gives to Thee, 

When Thou must hide Thyself from me. 

By Thine own sorrow on the Cross, 

That agonizing cry -, 
Thy sense of that one moment's loss, 

When darkness veiled the sky. 
And hid Thy Father's face from Thee : — 

Hide not Thy face, O Christ, from me. 
John S. B. Monsell 



THURSDAY 

" "LJ OLY of Holies," awful name— 

^n. Where, in a still retreat. 
The Presence of the Godhead dwelt. 

Upon the mercy-seat : 
Veiled from the eye in darkness dim, 
Enthroned between the cherubim. 

Once in the year, within the veil. 

In mystic robes arrayed, 
The High Priest entered, and with blood 

An expiation made : 
But blood of victims could not cleanse 
And purge the guilt of man's offence. 

O Great Redeemer ! God and Man, 

Victim and Priest in one ; 
Thou, entering Heaven with Thine own Blood, 

Didst once for all atone : 



142 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou hast removed the awful cloud, 
Which once the oracle did shroud. 

Now a bright Rainbow o'er the Throne 

Sheds lustre from above, 
Where showers of Judgment mildly shine, 

Gilded by beam-s of Love ; 
Thy Blood, O Lamb of God, is there, 
Pleading for us with ceaseless Prayer. 

Cleansed by that Blood, we now approach 

Boldly the Throne of Grace : 
O may we, following the Lamb, 

Come to that Holy Place ; 
Lord, Who for us didst deign to bleed, 
Be Thou our help in time of need ! 

Christopher Wordsworth 



FRIDAY 

CHRIST, Who our weak flesh didst wear 
In Thy Life so sinless fair 
And didst consecrate our frame 
As a temple to God's Name, 
Life's best springs are found in Thee, 
Let the Christ be formed in me. 

Thou, Who didst on Calvary show 
God's strong love, and man's worst woe. 
And in death didst manifest 
Sacrifice for ever blest, 
Make me share the Cross with Thee, 
And fulfil Thy life in me. 

Thou, Who rising from the grave, 
Righteous, pure, and strong to save, 



FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 143 

Taughtest men new life to find, 
In deeds holy, true, and kind. 
Raise me up from sin to Thee, 
And fulfil Thy life in me. 

Thou, Who at Thy travail's end, " 
To Thy Father didst ascend, 
And in leaving earth didst prove, 
God the centre of all love, 
In a love that yearns to Thee, 
Lord, fulfil Thy life in me. 



Christ incarnate, crucified. 
King of all things far and wide. 
Who hast Life for evermore, 
Fill me from Thy boundless store. 
Till in Heaven Thy face I see. 
And fulfil my life in Thee. 

William Boyd Carpenter 



SATURDAY 

SORROW weeps !— 
And drowns its bitterness in tears ; 
My child of sorrow, 

Weep out the fulness of thy passionate grief. 
And drown in tears 
The bitterness of lonely years. 
God gives the rain and sunshine mild, 
And both are best, my child ! 

Joy weeps ! — 

And overflows its banks with tears ; 

My child of joy. 

Weep out the gladness of thy pent-up heart, 



144 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And let thy glistening eyes 
Run over in their ecstasies ; 
Life needeth joy ; but from on high 
Descends what cannot die ! 

Love weeps ! — 

And feeds its silent life with tears ; 

My child of love, 

Pour out the riches of thy yearning heart, 

And, like the air of even, 

Give and take back the dew of heaven ; 

And let that longing heart of thine 

Feed upon love divine ! 

HORATIUS BONAR 



PALM SUNDAY 

SEE what unbounded zeal and love 
Inflamed the Saviour's breast, 
When steadfast towards Jerusalem 

His urgent way He prest. 
Good-will to man, and zeal for God 

His every thought engross : 
He longs to be baptized with blood, 
He thirsts to reach the Cross. 

With all His sufferings full in view, 

And woes to us unknown. 
Forth to the work His spirit flew, 

'Twas love that urged Him on : 
By His obedience unto death 

See Paradise restored : 
And fallen man brought face to face 

With his forgiving Lord. 



MONDAY IN HOLY WEEK 145 

Prepare us, Lord, to view Thy Cross, 

Who all our griefs hast borne ; 
To look on Thee, Whom we have pierced, 

To look on Thee, and mourn : 
While thus we mourn, may we rejoice, 

And as Thy Cross we see. 
May each exclaim in faith and hope, 

" The Saviour died for me ! " 



MONDAY IN HOLY WEEK 

WHO is this, with garments gory. 
Triumphing from Bozrah's way. 
This, that weareth robes of glory. 

Bright, with more than Vict'ry's ray ; 
Who is this unwearied Comer 

From the journey's sultry length, 
Travelling through Idume's summer, 
In the greatness of His strength ! 

Wherefore red in Thine apparel, 

Like the conquerors of earth. 
And arrayed like those who carol 

O'er the reeking vineyard's mirth. 
Who art Thou, the valleys seeking. 

Where our peaceful harvests wave ! 
I — in righteous anger speaking, 

I — the mighty One to save. 

I — that of the raging heathen 
Trod the wine-press all alone. 

Now in victor garlands wreathen, 
Coming to redeem Mine own. 

K 



146 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I am He with sprinkled raiment, 
Glorious from My vengeance hour, 

Ransoming with priceless payment, 
And delivering with power. 

Hail, all hail. Thou Lord of Glory ! 

Thee our Father — Thee we own ! 
Abra'm heard not of our story, 

Israel ne'er our name hath known ; 
But, Redeemer, Thou hast sought us, 

Thou hast heard Thy children's wail. 
Thou with Thy dear Blood hast bought us, 

Hail, Thou mighty Victor, hail ! 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe 



TUESDAY IN HOLY WEEK 

IN the wound of Thy Right Hand 
Each earthly toil I view : 
By Thee my efforts stand, 

Thine arm doth bring me through. 
Hail, Holy Blood, life-spring of every nerve ; 
Strengthen my heart to worship, will, and serve. 

In Thy Left Hand's purple stream 
Each deed of love I lave. 
Till of them all I deem 

As steeped in that bright wave. 
Hail, Holy Wounds ; my worthless actions fill ; 
Upon their lifelessness Thy dews distil. 

In Thy Right Foot's holy scar 

My spirit-vision sees 
Dimly and from afar 

Thy human sympathies. 



\ 



yEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK 147 
V. 

^ , , ' Thy sacred footprints, day by day, 
i.ord . ma>^ ^^^^ ^-^^ ^^^^ ^^^ perfect way. 
Mark for oui , ^ ' 

V 

_ _, T r. T- '"'s crimson track 
In Thy Left Foo.j j 

w^ xl H H V?'^h me back, 
When Thou didst k^ ^^^ ^^^^^ 

„ A jvanderer froi.. ^j^ ^j^^ winepress tread 
Hail^ Sacred Feet thai ^^^ j^^^j;^ ^.^^^^ ^1^^^ 
Of Heaven s fierce wratJ ° 

In Thy loving Heart's ^ed^^^^^ . 

Thy Church her cares n. ^ ^ ^ 
Within its depths inhumed 

May wait and watch and wV v^^^ Guide 
O bleeding Lamb, our Saviour an ^ Upgj^g ' 
Our All Thou art, and there is non. 



WEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK 

JESUS, we rest in Thee ; 
J In Thee ourselves we hide ; 
Laden with guilt and misery, 

Where could we rest beside ? 
'Tis on Thy meek and lowly Breast 
Our weary souls alone can rest ! 

Thou Holy One of God ! 

The Father rests in Thee ; 
And in the savour of that Blood, 

Once shed on Calvary, 
The curse is gone ; through Thee we're blest ; 
God rests in Thee ; in Thee we rest. 



148 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF -SONG 

The slaves of sin and fear— 

Thy truth our bondage broke ; 

Our happy spirits love to wea/r 
Thy light and easy yoke. 

The love which fills our grateful breast 

Makes duty joy, and labour rest. 

Soon the bright glorious Day, 

The Rest of God shall come ; 

Sorrow and sin shall pass away, 

And we shall reach our Home ; 

Then, of the promised land possessed, 

Our souls shalV know eternal rest. 

J. G. Deck 



MAUNDY THURSDAY 

O BLESSED Jesus ! when I see Thee bending, 
Gijf t as a servant, at Thy servants' feet. 
Love, lowliness, and might, in zeal all blending, 
To wash their dust away, and make them meet 
To^^^hare Thy Feast ; I know not to adore, 
W'nether Thy humbleness or glory more. 

Conscious Thou art of that dread hour impending. 
When Thou must hang in anguish on the Tree; 
Yet, as from the beginning, to the ending 
Of Thy sad life. Thine own are dear to Thee, — 
And Thou wilt prove to them, ere Thou dost part. 
The untold love which fills Thy faithful heart. 

Meek Jesus ! to my soul. Thy spirit lending, 
Teach me to live, like Thee, in lowly love ; 

With humblest service all Thy saints befriending, 
Until I serve before Thy Throne above — 



GOOD FRIDAY 149 

Yes ! serving e'en my foes, for Thou didst seek 
The feet of Judas in Thy service meek. 

Daily my pilgrim feet, as homeward wending 
My weary way, are sadly stained with sin ; 

Daily do Thou, Thy precious grace expending. 
Wash me all clean without, and clean within, 

And make me fit to have a part with Thee 

And Thine, at last, in Heaven's festivity. 

O blessed name of Servant ! comprehending 
Man's highest honour in his humblest name ; 

For Thou, God's Christ, that office recommending, 
The throne of mighty power didst truly claim ; 

He who would rise like Thee, like Thee must owe 

His glory only to his stooping low. 

George W. Bethune 



GOOD FRIDAY 

WHEN scorn, and hate, and bitter envious 
pride 
Hurled all their darts against the Crucified, 
Found they no fault but this in Him so tried ? 

" He saved others ! " 

Those hands, thousands their healing touches knew; 
On withered limbs they fell like heavenly dew ; 
The dead have felt them and have lived anew : 

"He saved others! " 

The blood is dropping slowly from them now ; 
Thou canst not raise them to Thy thorn-crown'd 

brow. 
Nor on them Thy parched lips and forehead bow : 

" He saved others ! " 



150 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

That Voice from out their graves the dead hath 

stirred ; 
Crushed, outcast hearts, grew joyful as they heard ; 
For every woe it had a healing word : 

" He saved others ! " 

For all Thou hadst deep tones of sympathy — 
Hast Thou no word for this Thine agony ? 
Thou pitiedst all; doth no man pity Thee? 

" He saved others ! " 

So many fettered hearts Thy touch hath freed, 
Physician ! and Thy wound unstanched must 

bleed ; 
Hast Thou no balm for this Thy sorest need ? 

" He saved others ! " 

Lord ! and one sign from Thee could rend the 

sky, 
One word from Thee, and low those mockers lie ; 
Thou mak'st no movement, utterest no cry, 

And savest us. 
Elizabeth Rundle Charles 



JESUS ! gentle Sufferer, say, 
How shall we this dreadful day 
Near Thee draw, and to Thee pray ? 

We, whose proneness to forget 

Thy dear love, on Olivet 

Bathed Thy brow with bloody sweat ; 

We, whose sins, with awful power, 
Like a cloud did o'er Thee lower, 
In that God-excluding hour ; 



EASTER EVE 151 

We, who still, in thought and deed, 

Often hold the bitter reed 

To Thee, in Thy time of need, — 

Canst Thou pardon us, and pray, 
As for those who on this day 
Took Thy precious life away ? 

Yes ! Thy Blood is all my plea ; 
It was shed, and shed for me, 
Therefore to Thy Cross I flee. 

At Thy feet, in dust and shame, 
I dare breathe Thy holy Name, 
And a great salvation claim. 

Save me, Jesus : stoop and take 

Pity on my soul, and make 

This day bright, for Thy dear sake. 

John S. B, Monsell 



EASTER EVE 

I SAW two women weeping by the tomb 
Of One new buried, in a fair green place 
Bowered with shrubs ; — the eve retained no trace 
Of aught that day performed, — but the faint gloom 
Of dying day was spread upon the sky ; — 

The moon was broad and bright above the 

wood ; — 
The distance sounded of a multitude, 
Music and shout and mingled revelry. 
At length came gleaming through the thicket shade 
Helmet and casque — and a steel-armed band 



152 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Watched round the sepulchre in solemn stand ; 
The night-word passed, from man to man conveyed 
And I could see those women rise and go 
Under the dark trees moving sad and slow. 

Henry Alford 



EASTER DAY 

AWAKE, glad soul ! awake ! awake ! 
Thy Lord hath risen long, 
Go to His grave, and with thee take 

Both tuneful heart and song ; 
Where life is waking all around, 

Where love's sweet voices sing, 
The first bright Blossom may be found 
Of an Eternal Spring. 

O Love ! which lightens all distress, 

Love, death cannot destroy : 
O Grave ! whose very emptiness 

To Faith is full of joy ; 
Let but that Love our hearts supply 

From Heaven's exhaustless Spring, 
Then, Grave, where is thy victory ? 

And, Death, where is thy sting? 

The shade and gloom of life are fled 

This Resurrection-day ; 
Henceforth in Christ are no more dead, 

The grave hath no more prey : 
In Christ we live, in Christ we sleep, 

In Christ we wake and rise ; 
And the sad tears death makes us weep, 

He wipes from all our eyes. 



EASTER DAY 153 

And every bird and every tree 

And every opening flower 
Proclaim His glorious victory, 

His resurrection-power : 
The folds are glad, the fields rejoice, 

With vernal verdure spread ; 
The Httle hills lift up their voice, 

And shout that Death is dead. 

Then wake, glad heart ! awake ! awake ! 

And seek thy risen I^ord, 
Joy in His Resurrection take. 

And comfort in His Word ; 
And let thy life, through all its ways. 

One long thanksgiving be. 
Its theme of joy, its song of praise, 

" Christ died, and rose for me." 

John S. B. Monsell 



HE is risen, He is risen. 
Tell it with a joyful voice. 
He has burst His three days' prison. 
Let the whole wide earth rejoice ; 
Death is conquered, man is free, 
Christ has won the victory. 

Tell it to the sinners, weeping 
Over deeds in darkness done. 
Weary fast and vigil keeping, 
Brightly breaks their Easter sun : 
Blood can wash all sins away, 
Christ has conquered hell to-day. 

Come, ye sad and fearful hearted, 
With glad smile and radiant brow ; 



154 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Lent's long shadows have departed, 

All His woes are over now, 
And the Passion that He bore ; 
Sin and pain can vex no more. 

Come, with high and holy hymning 
Chant our Lord's triumphant lay ; 
Not one darksome cloud is dimming 
Yonder glorious morning ray 

Breaking o'er the purple East ; 

Brighter far our Easter feast. 

He is risen, He is risen. 

He has ope'd the eternal gate ; 

We are free from sin's dark prison, 

Risen to a holier state. 
And a brighter Easter beam 
On our longing eyes shall stream. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



MONDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

AWAKE, thou wintry earth, 
Fling off thy sadness ; 
Fair vernal flowers laugh forth 
Your ancient gladness : 

Christ is risen. 

Wave, woods, your blossoms all, 
Grim Death is dead ; 

Ye weeping funeral trees, 
Lift up your head. 

Christ is risen. 



TUESDAY IN EASTER WEEK 155 

Come, see, the graves are green ; 

It is light ; let us go 
Where our loved ones rest 

In hope below. 

Christ is risen. 

All is fresh and new, 

Full of spring and light ; 
Wintry heart, why wearest the hue 

Of sleep and night ? 

Christ is risen. 



Leave thy cares beneath, 

Leave thy worldly love ; 
Begin the better life 
With God above. 

Christ is risen. 
Thomas Blackburne 



TUESDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

WHY for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and 
mourn 
Like one half broken-hearted and forlorn ? 
No need for Him that thou shouldst mourn and 

weep. 
No need with tears an empty shroud to steep. 

He Whom thou seekest in the murky tomb 
Hath sprung bright and victorious from the gloom ; 
He lives, He greatly Hves for evermore ; 
See open wide the rock's sepulchral door ! 



156 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Why bring'st thou myrrh and spices, offerings meet 
For pallid corpses in their winding sheet ? 
His Body blooms with immortality, 
Meet to return to His paternal sky. 

Thy tears proclaim the greatness of thy love, 
Nor doth thy Lord thy streaming tears reprove ; 
Hear'st thou ? and know'st thou not that voice 

adored ? 
'Tis thine own name ! He speaks— thy God and 

Lord. 

Now go first witness and first messenger : 
Throughout the city thy glad tidings bear, 
And tell the twelve that Christ Himself is nigh, 
And, wheresoe'er thou speakest, standing by. 

Isaac Williams 



WEDNESDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

TO Him, Who for our sins was slain. 
To Him, for all His dying pain, 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 
To Him, the Lamb our sacrifice. 
Who gave His soul our ransom-price. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 

To Him, Who died that we might die 
To sin, and live with Him on high. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 
To Him, Who rose that we might rise 
And reign with Him beyond the skies. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 



THURSDAY IN EASTER WEEK 157 

To Him, Who now for us doth plead, 
And helpeth us in all our need. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 
To Him, Who doth prepare on high 
Our home in immortality. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 

To Him be glory evermore ; 

Ye heavenly hosts, your Lord adore ; 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
One God most great, our joy and boast. 

Sing we Hallelujah ! 
Arthur Tozer Russell 



THURSDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

ON the Cross we saw Him dying, 
Saw Him mid the spices lying, 
Saw the nail-prints, and the spear-wound, as we 
laid Him in the tomb ; 
And we wept in anguish weary 
Through the Sabbath dim and dreary. 
And our souls were heavy-laden with the horror 
and the gloom. 

Oh the rush of joy returning ! 

Oh our hearts within us burning 
Very early in the morning, at the rosy dawn of day ! 

Is it true. Oh starry Angel 

Herald of the great Evangel ? 
Mary, Peter, Holy Women — did ye see Him as 
ye say ? 



158 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Yea, we saw Him with us walking, 
Heard Him in the twiUght talking, 
Saw Him by the grassy margent of the misty 
silver sea : 
Saw Him — we, the loved Eleven, 
Gathered in the solemn Even, 
Saw Him — the five hundred brethren — on the 
hill of Galilee. 

Christ is risen ! He is risen ! 

He hath left the rocky prison, 
And the white-robed Angels glimmer mid the 
cerements of His grave ; 

He hath smitten with His thunder 

Every gate of brass asunder, 
He hath burst the iron fetters — irresistible to save ! 

Oh the gladness and the glory 
Of the blessed Easter story ! 
Oh the quick electric thrilling of the Pentecostal 
flame! 
Death of death, of life the Giver, 
Reign, oh Victor King, for ever ! 
Lowly we Thy sons adore Thee ! Glory, Glory 
to Thy Name ! 

Frederick William Farrar 



FRIDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

IT happen'd on a solemn eventide, 
Soon after He that was our Surety died, 
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined. 
The scene of all those sorrows left behind. 
Sought their own village, busied as they went 
In musings worthy of the great event : 



SATURDAY IN EASTER WEEK 159 

They spake of Him they loved, of Him Whose Hfe, 

Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, 

Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 

A deep memorial graven on their hearts. 

The recollection, like a vein of ore, 

The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more ; 

They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, 

One 
Sent to do more than He appear'd to have done ; 
To exalt a people, and to place them high 
Above all else, and wonder'd He should die. 
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
A Stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend. 
And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air, 
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 
Inform'd, He gather'd up the broken thread, 
And, truth and wisdom gracing all He said, 
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well 
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 
That, reaching home, the night, they said, is near, 
We must not now be parted, sojourn here. — 
The new acquaintance soon became a guest. 
And made so welcome at their simple feast. 
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word. 
And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord ! 
Did not our hearts feel all He deign'd to say. 
Did they not burn within us by the way ? 

William Cowper 



SATURDAY IN EASTER WEEK 

NOW theirs was converse such as it behoves 
Man to maintain, and such as God approves : 
Their views indeed were indistinct and dim. 
But yet successful, being aim'd at Him. 



i6o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Christ and His character their only scope, 
Their object, and their subject, and their hope, 
They felt what it became them much to feel. 
And, wanting Him to loose the sacred seal. 
Found Him as prompt, as their desire was true. 
To spread the new-born glories in their view. 
Well — what are ages and the lapse of time 
Match'd against truths as lasting as subhme ? 
Can length of years on God Himself exact. 
Or make that fiction which was once a fact ? 
No — marble and recording brass decay, 
And, like the graver's memory, pass away ; 
The works of man inherit, as is just. 
Their author'^-^i-ailty, and return to dust ; 
Their truth^u^v^iie for ever stands secure, 
Its head is guarded as its b^se i^ sn^e. : 
Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years 
The pillar of the eternal plan appears. 
The raving storm and dashing wave defies, 
Built by that Architect Who built the skies. 
Hearts may be found that harbour at this hour 
That love of Christ in all its quickening power ; 
And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife. 
Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, 
Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 
A Jordan for the ablution of our woes. 

William Cowper 



THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 

"'^^HEN Royal Truth, released from mortal throes. 
Burst His brief slumber, and triumphant rose, 
111 had the HoHest sued 
A patron multitude. 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER i6i 

Or courted Tetrarch's eye, or claimed to rule 
By the world's winning grace, or proofs from learned 
school. 

But robing Him in viewless air. He told 
His secret to a few of meanest mould ; 
They in their turn imparted 
The gift to men pure-hearted. 
While the brute many heard His mysteries high, 
As some strange fearful tongue, and crouched they 
knew not why. 

Still is the might of Truth, as it has been : 
Lodged in the few, obeyed, and yet unseen. 
Reared on lone heights, and rare, 
His Saints their watch-flame bear, 
And the mad world sees the wide-circling blaze. 
Vain-searching whence it streams, and how to 
quench its rays. 

John Henry Newman 



WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER 
EASTER 

MONDAY 

Vy HY art Thou not, O Saviour, here, 
^ V As midst the Apostles' band Thou wast ? 
They need Thee not in loftier sphere, 

With all their cares and sorrows past ; 
But here we wish Thee every day. 
To come, and, " Peace be with you," say. 



1 62 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Why is this whirl in heart and brain, 

When but Thy word the whole could calm ? 

Why all this weakness felt, and pain, 

When Thou couldst yield both strength and 
balm? 

" If Thou hadst but been here," we cry, 

'' Cause had not come to faint or sigh." 

O Saviour, feeble flesh cries out 

For something which with sense agrees ; 

Still it renews the Apostle's doubt. 
Because it handles not, nor sees ; 

Forgetting what a boon receives 

He who, though seeing not, believes. 

E'en when Thy death hath paid our debt. 

Saviour, to us, as those of old. 
Thou prov'st a Master absent yet. 

Though from the tomb the stone be rolled : 
Near us Thou art, yet mak'st appear 
Only at times Thy Presence clear. 

Lord Kinloch 

TUESDAY 

LORD, with what courage and delight 
I do each thing. 
When Thy least breath sustains my wing ! 
I shine and move 
Like those above. 
And, with much gladness 
Quitting sadness, 
Make me fair days of every night. 

Affliction thus mere pleasure is : 
And hap what will, 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 163 

If Thou be in't, 'tis welcome still. 

But since Thy rays 

In sunny days 

Thou thus dost lend, 

And freely spend, 
Ah ! what shall I return for this ? 

O that I were all soul ! that Thou 

Wouldst make each part 
Of this poor sinful frame pure heart ! 

Then would I drown 

My single one ; 

And to Thy praise 

A concert raise 
Of Alleluias here below. 

Henry Vaughan 



WEDNESDAY 

C PRING is but another birth, 
^ From the grave of earlier springs, 
Which to renovated earth 
Other resurrection brings. 

God hath moulded all that God's 

Power could mould, from mortal dust ; 

Flowers and fruits, from clouds and clods. 
Life from ruin and from rust. 

'Twas a wondrous hand that laid 

In the seed the unborn tree ; 
Bud and blossom in the blade. 

Future ripened fruit to be. 



i64 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Still more wondrous was the might 
That, from night's obscurest shrine, 

Brought forth intellectual light. 

Souls with thoughts and hopes divine. 

Yes ? 'twas a transcendent power 
Which, for earth's contracted whole, 

Gave to Heaven a worthy dower, 
Gave an ever-living soul. 

Less than earth to Heaven, and less 
Than to ages moments seem, 

Is the world we now possess. 
To the world of which we dream. 

Earthly love is faint and small, 
When compared with the embrace 

Of a love encircling all, 
Through all time and o'er all space. 

Sir John Bowring 



THURSDAY 

LIGHT of the better morning, 
Shine down on me ! 
Sun of the brighter Heaven, 

Bid darkness flee ! 
Thy warmth impart 
To this dull heart : 
Pour in Thy light. 
And let this night 
Be turned to day 
By Thy mild ray ! 
Lord Jesus, come, 
Thou Day-star, shine, 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 165 

Enlighten now 

This soul of mine ! 
Streaks of the better dawning 

Break on my sight, 
Fringing with silver edges 

These clouds of night. 
Gems on morn's brow, 
Glow, brightly glow, 
Foretelling soon 
The ascending noon. 
Wakening this earth 
To second birth. 

When He shall come 
To earth again, 

Who comes to judge, 
Who comes to reign. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



FRIDAY 

MY God, I thank Thee, Who hast made 
The Earth so bright ; 
So full of splendour and of joy. 

Beauty and light ; 
So many glorious things are here 
Noble and right ! 

I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made 

Joy to abound ; 
So many gentle thoughts and deeds 

Circling us round. 
That in the darkest spot of Earth 

Some love is found. 

I thank Thee more that all our joy 
Is touched with pain j 



1 66 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

That shadows fall on brightest hours ; 

That thorns remain ; 
So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, 

And not our chain. 

For Thou Who kriowest, Lord, how soon 

Our weak heart clings, 
Hast given us joys, tender and true, 

Yet all with wings. 
So that we see, gleaming on high, 

Diviner things ! 

I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept 

The best in store ; 
We have enough, yet not too much 

To long for more : 
A yearning for a deeper peace, 

Not known before. 

I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, 

Though amply blest, 
Can never find, although they seek, 

A perfect rest, — 
Nor ever shall, until they lean 

On Jesus' breast ! 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



N 



SATURDAY 

OT as a fallen stone. 

Abiding where it hath been flung. 
Did Christ remain the dead among, 
But sprang from Hades' deep invisible zone. 
As the corn springs from where it has been thrown 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 167 

Not, as at Nain of yore 
The young man rose to die again, 
Did He resume the haunts of men, 
But closed behind Him Death's reluctant door 
And triumphed on to live for evermore ! 

Not, as we spend our days, 
Subject to sorrows, pains, and fears, 
Does He persist a Man of tears ; 
Henceforth He feels no touch of our decays. 
But inexpressive joy in all His ways ! 

Not for Himself alone 
He fought, and won that glorious life : 
For us He conquered in the strife, 
That we might make His victory our own. 
And rise with Him before the Father's Throne ! 



Thus hath the Saviour brought 
Our immortality to light ! 
O may He tarry in our sight. 
That, clinging fast to Him with every thought. 
We may partake the triumph He has wrought ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 

WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved. 
Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her father's God before her moved. 
An awful guide in smoke and flame. 



1 68 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

By day, along the astonished lands 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen ; 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen. 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen, 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And oh, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night. 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light. 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams. 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said. The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought. 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 

Sir Walter Scott 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 169 

WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY 
AFTER EASTER 

MONDAY 

OLORD, our Lord, in all the earth 
How bright Thy Name, how high ! 
Thou Who hast pour'd Thy glory forth 
Beyond th' eternal sky. 

By lips that hang upon the breast 

Thou hast ordain'd Thee might 
For war, to lay the foe to rest, 

And still th' avenger's spite. 

When gazing on the Heavens, I see 

The work of Thine own hand, 
The moon and stars, array 'd by Thee 

In order as they stand ; 

What is frail man, for Thee to bear 

In memory and in mind ? 
Or wherefore visit with Thy care 

The child of base mankind ? 

Thou sett'st him where is little space 

'Twixt him and Powers divine. 
With glory crown'st him, and with grace, 

O'er every work of Thine. 

His is the sway : the Word from Thee 

Put all beneath his feet, 
Both flock and herd, yea wild beast free, 

And fowls of Heaven so fleet, 



I70 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And fishes of the sea, whate'er 
GHdes deep in ocean ways. — 

O, Lord, our Lord, how dread and fair 
In all the earth Thy praise ! 

John Keble 

TUESDAY 

KNOW well, my soul, God's hand controls 
Whate'er thou fearest ; 
Round Him in calmest music rolls 
Whate'er thou hearest. 

What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, 

And the end He knoweth, 
And not on a blind and aimless way 

The spirit goeth. 

Man sees no future — a phantom show 

Is alone before him : 
Past Time is dead and the grasses grow. 

And flowers bloom o'er him. 

Nothing before, nothing behind ; 

The steps of Faith 
Fall on the seeming void, and find 

The rock beneath. 

The Present, the Present is all thou hast 

For thy sure possessing ; 
Like the patriarch's Angel, hold it fast 

Till it gives its blessing. 

Why fear the night ? why shrink from Death ? 

That phantom wan ? 
There is nothing in Heaven or earth beneath. 

Save God and man. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 171 

Peopling the shadows we turn from Him 

And from one another; 
All is spectral, and vague, and dim, 

Save God and our brother ! 

John Greenleaf Whittier 



WEDNESDAY 

GOD might have made the earth bring forth 
Enough for great and small, 
The oak tree and the cedar tree. 
Without a flower at all. 

He might have made enough, enough 

For every want of ours, 
For luxury, medicine, and toil. 

And yet have made no flowers. 

The clouds might give abundant rain, 

The nightly dews might fall. 
And the herb that keepeth life in man 

Might yet have drunk them all. 

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made. 

And dyed with rainbow light, 
All fashion'd with supremest grace, 

Upspringing day and night ? 

Springing in valleys green and low, 

And on the mountains high ; 
And in the silent wilderness, 

Where no man passes by ? 

Our outward life requires them not. 
Then, wherefore had they birth ? 



172 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

To minister delight to man, 
To beautify the earth ; 

To comfort man — to whisper hope, 

Whene'er his faith is dim ; 
For Who so careth for the flower 

Will much more care for him ! 

Mary Howitt 



THURSDAY 

SOURCE of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul 
Renews her wonted flight, and soars above, 
Where, loosen'd from earth's bondage, care's 
control, 
She drinks the springs of speechless joy and 
love ! 

How full the draught ! Upborne on faith's strong 
wings. 
She mounts, nor heeds th' encumbering load of 
clay. 
Ascending far above earth's loftiest things, 

Catching the light of Heaven's unclouded day. 

Fountain of light to that all blissful sphere ! 

Thy beams dispel the darkness of my heart 
At this far distance : who shall then declare 

What they receive who see Thee as Thou art ! 

O God, our Saviour ! if below Thy light, 

Caught by my heart, sin's darkest shades dispel. 

Oh, then what ecstasy pervades their sight, 

Whose robes reflect the beams in which they 
dwell. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 173 

Shine, ever shine, more brightly constant shine, 
To point, to comfort, to make safe our way ; 

Absent, we differ, murmur, and repine. 
Our fallen nature's unresisted prey ! 

Gilbert N, Smith 



FRIDAY 

O HEAVEN ! Sweet Heaven ! the home of the 
blest, 
Where hearts once in trouble are ever at rest ; 
Where eyes that could see not rejoice in the light. 
And beggars made princes are walking in white. 

O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! the mansion of love. 
Where Christ in His beauty shines forth from 

above. 
The Lamb with His sceptre, to charm and control, 
And love is the sea that encircles the whole. 

O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where purity reigns. 
Where error disturbs not, and sin never stains ; 
Where holiness robes in its garments so fair 
The great multitude that is worshipping there. 

O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where music ne'er 

dies, 
But rich pealing anthems of glory arise ; 
Where saints with one feeling of rapture are 

stirred, 
And loud hallelujahs for ever are heard. 

O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where friends neve 

part. 
But cords of true friendship bind firmly the heart ; 



174 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Where farewell shall never more fall on the ear, 
Nor eyes that have sorrowed be dimmed with a 
tear. 

Edwin H. Nevin 



SATURDAY 

NOTHING resting in its own completeness 
Can have worth or beauty : but alone 
Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness, 
Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. 

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning. 
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours ; 
But is hidden in her tender leaning 
To the summer's richer wealth of flowers. 

Dawn is fair because the mists fade slowly 
Into day, which floods the world with light ; 
Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy. 
Just because it ends in starry night. 

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow 
From strife, that in a far-off future lies ; 
And Angel glances (veiled now by life's sorrow) 
Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. 

Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
Towards a truer, deeper life above ; 
Human love is sweetest when it leadeth 
To a more divine and perfect love. 

Learn the mystery of progression duly, 
Do not call each glorious change, decay ; 
But know we only hold our treasures truly 
When it seems as if they passed away ; 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 175 

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness ; 
In that want their beauty lies : they roll 
Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, 
Bearing onwards man's reluctant soul. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 

THROUGH many a far and foreign land, 
With weary feet, and garment rent, 
And sandal laced, and staff in hand. 
The home-bound pilgrim went ; 

He passed by many a garden fair. 
He looked on many a lordly dome, 
But ever whispered, passing there, 
" I seek my Father's home." 

He lingered not where thousand charms 
Wooed him from bank and sunny bower ; 
He turned not back when night's alarms 
Did all around him lour ; 

Yet gratefully he plucked some flowers 
That blossomed brightly at his feet, 
He knew, to cheer his travel hours, 
That God had made them meet ; 

And when sharp thorns before him lay. 
And rugged was the narrow road. 
He did not seek another way. 
But bravely onward strode. 



176 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Children, all Christians here on earth, 
Where'er their weary footsteps roam, 
Whate'er their place, or state, or birth, 
Are pilgrims going home. 

The world shall tempt with vain delight, 
Shall try them with contempt and scorn, 
They must not think her flowers too bright, 
Nor tremble at her thorn. 

If doing right seem hard and stern. 
They must not shrink and turn away, 
But take their Master's Cross, and learn 
To bear it, day by day. 

Thus praising God for all things sweet 
And bright, that He on earth has given, 
With watchful prayer their pilgrim feet 
Must hasten on to Heaven. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY 
AFTER EASTER 

MONDAY 

ALL flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; 
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream ; 
The man we celebrate must find a tomb, 
And we that worship him, ignoble graves. — 
Nothing is proof against the general curse 






THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 177 

Of vanity, that seizes all below. 

The only amaranthine flower on earth 

Is virtue ; the only lasting treasure, truth. 

But what is truth ? 'Twas Pilate's question put 

To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. 

And wherefore ? will not God impart His light 

To them that ask it? — Freely — 'tis His joy, 

His glory, and His nature to impart. 

But to the proud, uncandid, insincere. 

Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 

What's that which brings contempt upon a book, 

And him who writes it, though the style be neat, 

The method clear, and argument exact ? 

That makes a minister in holy things 

The joy of many, and the dread of more. 

His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? 

That while it gives us worth in God's account. 

Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 

What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy. 

That learning is too proud to gather up, 

But which the poor, and the despised of all 

Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? 

Tell me, and I will tell thee, what is truth. 

William Cowper 



TUESDAY 

OH for the peace which floweth as a river. 
Making life's desert places bloom and smile ! 
Oh for the faith to grasp Heaven's bright "for ever," 
Amid the shadows of earth's "little while." 

" A httle while," for patient vigil-keeping, 
To face the stern, to wrestle with the strong ; 

" A little while," to sow the seed with weeping. 
Then bind the sheaves, and sing the harvest-song. 

M 



178 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" A little while," to wear the weeds of sadness, 
To pace with weary step through miry ways ; 

Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness, 
And clasp the girdle round the robe of praise. 

" A little while," midst shadow and illusion. 
To strive, by faith, love's mysteries to spell ; 

Then read each dark enigma's bright solution. 
Then hail sight's verdict, "He doth all things well." 

" A little while," the earthen pitcher taking 
To wayside brooks, from far-off fountains fed ; 

Then the cool lip its thirst for ever slaking 
Beside the fulness of the Fountain Head. 

" A little while," to keep the oil from failing, 
" A little while," faith's flickering lamp to trim ; 

And then, the Bridegroom's coming footsteps 
hailing. 
To haste to meet Him with the bridal hymn. 

And He, Who is Himself the Gift and Giver, 
The future glory and the present smile, 

With the bright promise of the glad " for ever " 
Will light the shadows of the "little while." 

Jane Crewdson 



WEDNESDAY 

OH, weak are my best thoughts and poor 
Is all that I can say, 
Whether I lift my voice in praise 
Or kneel me down to pray : 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTEk 179 

Wherefore I thank Thee, gracious Lord, 

Whose love provides for me 
A higher and more perfect way 

Of drawing nigh to Thee — 
The way of sacrifice — ordained 

When earth was in its prime ; 
Used by the hoary Patriarchs 

All through the olden time ; 
To Israel's children in the Law 

Of trembling Sinai given ; 
To us in later days confirmed 

By Christ Himself from Heaven. 
O sweet ecstatic thought ! 'tis mine 

To offer as of yore 
A Sacrifice, and one in power 

Excelling all before ; 
For me upon an Altar fair 

Is pleaded, day by day. 
The Body and the Blood of Him 

Whom Heaven and earth obey : 
And as the scarcely buoyant plank, 

Knit in the vessel's side, 
With ease careers across the waves 

O'er leagues of ocean wide, 
So too, though weak my prayer, O Lord, 

Though poor my praises be, 
Yet, knit with this high Sacrifice, 

They win their way to Thee. 

Edward Caswall 



THURSDAY 

THE more we live, more brief appear 
Our life's succeeding stages : 
A day to childhood seems a year, 
And years like passing ages. 



i8o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The gladsome current of our youth, 

Ere passion yet disorders, 
Steals lingering like a river smooth 

Along its grassy borders. 

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 

Ye Stars, that measure life to man. 
Why seem your courses quicker ? 

When joys have lost their bloom and breath. 

And life itself is vapid. 
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 

Feel we its tide more rapid ? 

It may be strange — yet who would change 
Time's course to slower speeding, 

When one by one our friends have gone 
And left our bosoms bleeding ? 

Heaven gives our years of fading strength 

Indemnifying fleetness ; 
And those of youth, a seeming length 

Proportion'd to their sweetness. 

Thomas Campbell 



FRIDAY 

DO not cheat thy Heart and tell her, 
" Grief will pass away ; 
Hope for fairer times in future 

And forget to-day." — 
Tell her, if you will, that sorrow 

Need not come in vain ; 
Tell her that the lesson taught her 
Far outweighs the pain. 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER i8i 

Cheat her not with the old comfort, 

" Soon she will forget," — 
Bitter truth, alas, — but matter 

Rather for regret; 
Bid her not "Seek other pleasures, 

Turn to other things : " — 
Rather nurse the caged sorrow 

Till the captive sings. 

Rather bid her go forth bravely. 

And the stranger greet ; 
Not as foe, with spear and buckler, 

But as dear friends meet ; 
Bind her with a strong clasp, hold her. 

By her dusky wings — 
Listening for the murmured blessing 

Sorrow always brings. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



SATURDAY 

LOOK up ; the rainy heavens withdraw, 
Light flows anew at ebb of day ; 
Look, and believe the gracious law, 
That love shall have the final sway. 

The grass is of a perfect green, 

Dappled with shades this pleasant hour ; 
The garden walk is crisp and clean ; 

Wind shakes the tears from bough and flower. 

Its finest life is in the air. 

Its finest lustre in the light ; 
And see ! the drifting clouds of care 

Are touched with glory in their flight. 



i82 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

In such an hour is understood 

The sacred mystery of woe ; 
We feel a life divinely good 

Within us rise, around us flow : 

A spirit tranquil as t)f one 

Who finds in happy languor rest, 

Sore wearied with his work well done, 
But through well-doing richly blest : 

A spirit as of one who broods 
Of sorrows ceased but unforgot ; 

Whose heart, Hke heaven, the rainiest moods 
Leave softer, and without a blot. 

Come, holy peace, when evening's flame 
Burns in the west intensely still. 

Come, kindling salutary shame 

For half-won good, half- vanquished ill. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 

HE loved His own unto the end," 
And asked their love ; 
He said, " I call you each My friend, 
And not My servant ; and I send 

One from above. 
Who shall reveal such grace and truth to you 
As in My sojourn here ye never knew." 

" But why depart? " they cry, " why will 
To leave us here ? 
Thou sayest that Thou dost love us still : 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 183 

Can it be love if thus Thou fill 

Our cup of fear ? 
O Master, Master, should'st Thou now depart 
All sorrow needs must overwhelm our heart ! " 

Yet it is love : He said, "I go ; 

For could I stay, 
Your earth-bound thoughts would never know 
Love's fullest mysteries, which flow 

From Me alway ; 
My human heart might linger with you yet, 
But now affections must on Heaven be set. 

" You could not know Me more, unless 

My Spirit came 
And taught the ways of righteousness. 
How sin and judgment to confess, 

How learn to blame 
All clinging to inferior things of earth. 
Blind to the glory of your heavenly birth. 

" My peace I leave with you, but not 

As this world gives ; 
My Spirit comes to you, yet what 
He teaches shows no earthly lot ; 

He ever lives, 
The world must learn. I hear the Father's call 
Away from earth ! — Awhile I leave you all. 

" Arise ! let us go hence." He rose, 
And, as He spake. 
Calmly He moved, as one who knows 
The coming onset of his foes. 
The night winds shake 
With distant sounds, as through the olive grove 
" Let us depart," is echoed from above. 

William Josiah Irons 



i84 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER 
EASTER 

MONDAY 

THE world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain 
The mingled wages of the ploughman's toil ; 
The world's a heap, whose yet unwinnow'd grain 

Is lodged with chaff and buried in her soil ; 
All things are mix'd, the useful with the vain ; 
The good with bad, the noble with the vile ; 
The world's an ark, wherein things pure and 

gross 
Present their lossful gain, and gainful loss 
Where ev'ry pound of gold contains a pound of 
dross. 

The worldly wisdom of the foolish man 
Is like a sieve, that does alone retain 
The grosser substance of the worthless bran : 

But thou, my soul, let thy brave thoughts disdain 
So coarse a purchase : O be thou a fan 

To purge the chaff, and keep the winnow'd grain; 
Make clean thy thoughts, and dress thy mix'd 

desires : 
Thou art Heav'n's tasker ; and thy God 
requires 
The purest of thy flow'r, as well as of thy fires. 

Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace, 
And wisdom bless the soul's unblemish'd ways ; 

No matter, then, how short or long's the lease. 
Whose date determines thy self-number'd days : 

No need to care for wealth's or fame's increase, 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 185 

Nor Mars his palm, nor high Apollo's bays. 
Lord, if Thy gracious bounty please to fill 
The floor of my desires, and teach me skill 
To dress and choose the corn, take those the chaff 
that will. 

Francis Quarles 



TUESDAY 

MERCY and Truth my song would be ; 
To Thee, O Lord, I pour my lay; 
Mine be the wise true heart, to see 
The sure and perfect way. 

When wilt Thou come where I abide ? 

Lo ! in my house with perfect heart 
I walk ; nor have I wistful ey'd 
The worthless, evil part. 

I hate their work, who swerve to ill ; 

No spot of theirs on me be thrown ! 
Avaunt, I say, thou froward will, 
No sinner I will own. 

Who on his neighbour's name aside 

Breathes slander, him I silence quite ; 
The haughty eye, the heart of pride, 
I bear not in my sight. 

Mine eyes the loyal of my land 

Have mark'd, with me to dwell in love ; 
Who walks entire on either hand, 
My servant he shall prove. 



1 86 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

No fraud shall lurk beneath my roof, 

No false one find a home with me, 
The lying tongue must keep aloof. 
Nor rest where I may see. 

No miscreant in the land, but I 

Will root him out ere morning prime, 
Till from Thy city, Lord Most High, 
I tear the brood of crime. 

John Keble 

WEDNESDAY 

O HALLOWED memories of the past. 
Ye legends old and fair, 
Still be your light upon us cast, 
Your music on the air. 

In vain shall men deny, 
Or bid your mission cease, 
While stars yet prophesy 
Of love, and hope, and peace. 

For hearts the beautiful that feel. 
Whose pulse of love beats strong. 
The opening heavens new light reveal, 
Glory to God, their song. 

While bursts confession forth. 
That, since the world began. 
No miracle on earth 
E'er match'd the heart of man. 

And while from out our dying dust 
Light more than life doth stream. 
We bless the faith that bids us trust 
The Heaven that we dream. 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 187 

In death there is no fear, 
There's radiance through the gloom, 
While love and hope are here, 
The Angels of the tomb. 

Then, hallowed memories of the past, 
Or legends old and fair. 
Still be your Hght upon us cast. 
Your music on the air, 

In vain shall man deny, 
Or bid your mission cease ; 
The stars yet prophesy 
Of love, and hope, and peace. 

Sarah F. Adams 



THURSDAY 

TIRED " !— Well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, 
Fluttering the rose-leaves scattered by the breeze ? 
Come, rouse thee ! work while it is called to-day ; 
Coward, arise ! go forth upon thy way ! 

" Lonely " !— And what of that ? 
Some must be lonely ! 'tis not given to all 
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall. 
To blend another's life into our own ;^- 
Work may be done in loneliness. Work on ! 

" Dark " !— Well, what of that? 
Didst fondly dream the sun would never set ? 
Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet ! 
Learn thou to walk by faith, and not by sight, — 
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. 



1 88 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" Hard " !— Well, what of that ? 
Didst fancy life a summer holiday, 
With lessons none to learn, and naught but play ? 
Go, get thee to thy task ! Conquer or die ! 
It must be learned. Learn it then, patiently. 

" No help " ! — Nay, 'tis not so ! 
Though human help be far, thy God is nigh ; 
Who feeds the ravens, hears His children's cry. 
He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam. 
And He will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. 



FRIDAY 

ALL round the rolling world, both night and day, 
A ceaseless voice ascends from those who 
pray : 
" Thy will be done on earth, as now in Heaven ; 
Unto our souls a perfect choice be given." 

All round the rolling world, both night and day, 
A ceaseless answer comes to those who pray ; 
By shattered hopes, crossed plans, and fruitless 

pains, 
Thy heavenly Master thine allegiance trains. 

Guessing some portion of His great design. 
Thou seek'st to forward it by ways of thine ; 
He Who the whole disposes as is meet, 
Sees a necessity for thy defeat. 

Yet to the faithful there is no such thing 
As disappointment ; failures only bring 
A gentle pang, as peacefully they say, 
"His purpose stands, though mine has passed 
away." 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 189 

All is fulfilling, all is working still, 

To teach thee flexibility of will ; 

To great achievements let thy wishes soar, 

Yet meek submission pleases Christ still more. 

When Love's long discipline is overpast, 
Thy will too shall be done with His at last. 
When all is perfected, and thou dost stand. 
Robed, crowned, and glorified at His right hand. 

C. M. Noel 



SATURDAY 

WHEN is Communion nearest? 
When blended anthems dearest? 
Is it where far away dim aisles prolong 
The cadence of the choral song ? 

Whose notes like waves in ocean, 

When all are heard, yet none. 
With ever upward surging motion 

Approach the Eternal Throne ? 

Notes that would of madness tell, 
So keen they pierce, so high they swell ; 

But for Heaven's harmonious spell ; 
Keen to the listening ear, as to the sight 

The purest wintry star's intolerable light, 
Yet mild as evening gleams just melting into night. 

Or rather where soft soaring 
One silent heart adoring 
Loves o'er the stillness of the sick man's room 
To breathe intensest prayer's perfume. 

Whether calm rest be sealing 

The pained and wearied eyes. 

Or in high blended feeling 

Watcher and sufferer rise. 



190 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG 

Sweet the sleep, the waking dear, 
When the holy Church is near 
With mother's arms to hush and cheer. 

Seems it not then as though each prayer and 

psalm. 
Came like one message more from that far 

world of calm, 
And earnest of His love, Whose Blood is 
heahng balm? 

John Keble 



THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 

WHEN prayer delights thee least, then learn 
to say. 
Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st 
pray. 

Crooked and warped I am, and I would fain 
Straighten myself by thy right line again. 

O come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits ; 
Pierce, genial showers, down to my parched roots. 

My well is bitter, cast therein the tree. 

That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be. 

Say what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed ? 
The mighty utterance of a mighty need. 

The man is praying, who doth press with might 
Out of his darkness into God's own light. 

While heat the iron in the furnace won, 
Withdrawn from thence, 'twas cold and hard anon. 



ROGATION MONDAY 191 

Flowers from their stalks divided, presently 
Droop, fail, and wither in the gazer's eye. 

The greenest leaf divided from its stem, 
To speedy withering doth itself condemn. 

The largest river from its fountain head 

Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed. 

All things that live from God their sustenance 

wait, 
And sun and moon are beggars at His gate. 

All skirts extended of thy mantle hold, 
When Angel-hands from Heaven are scattering 
gold. 

Richard Chenevix Trench 



ROGATION MONDAY 

MOTHER ! with us the Lord doth bide ; 
Yet but a little while He stays, — 
Then for three dim and lonely days 
Why keep us from His side ? 

When thou wert in thy virgin prime. 
Those forty days through all the earth 
Thy heart did swell with festal mirth — 
It was thy bridal time. 

" Talk not, my son, of early days : 
My precious stones were passing fair, 
My life was Sacrament and prayer, 
My unity was praise. 



192 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" These glories now are well-nigh past : 
My son ! the world is waxing strong ; 
The day is hot ; the fight is long, 
And therefore do I fast. 

*' And ye are weak; and cannot bear 
Full forty days of Easter mirth : 
And nought is left unstained of earth, 
But penance, fast, and prayer. 

" Oh ! weary is my stay below ; 
And thus with strong and earnest cry, 
As each Ascension-day glides by, 
I fain with Him would go. 

" Then watch and fast, like saints of yore ; 
These three new days perchance may bring 
The earlier Advent of our King, 
And we shall fast no more ! " 

Frederick William Faber 



ROGATION TUESDAY 

UNANSWERED yet, the prayer your lips have 
pleaded. 
In agony of heart these many years ? 
Does faith begin to fail ? Is hope departing, 

And think you all in vain those falling tears ? 
Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer ; 
You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere. 

Unanswered yet, though when you first presented 
This one petition at the Father's Throne, 



ASCENSION EVE 193 

It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, 

So urgent was your heart to have it known ? 
Though years have passed since then, do not 

despair ; 
The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ? Nay, do not say ungranted ; 

Perhaps your part is not yet wholly done ; 
The work began when first your prayer was uttered. 

And God will finish what He has begun. 
If you will keep the incense burning there, 
His glory you will see sometime, somewhere. 

Unanswered yet ? Faith cannot be unanswered. 
Her feet are firmly planted on the rock ; 

Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted, 
Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. 

She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer. 

And cries. It shall be done — sometime, somewhere. 



ASCENSION EVE 

BREEZES of spring, all earth to Hfe awaking, — 
Birds swiftly soaring through the sunny sky, — 
The butterfly its lonely prison breaking, — 

The seed upspringing, which had seemed to 
die, — 

Types such as these a word of hope have spoken. 
Have shed a gleam of light around the tomb ; 

But weary hearts longed for a surer token, 
A clearer ray, to dissipate its gloom. 



194 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And this was granted ! See the Lord ascending, 
On crimson clouds of evening calmly borne, 

With hands outstretched, and looks of love still 
bending 
On His bereaved ones, who no longer mourn. 

" I am the Resurrection," hear Him saying ; 

" I am the Life ; He who believes in Me 
Shall never die, — the souls My call obeying, 

Soon, where I am, for evermore shall be." 

Sing Hallelujah ! light from Heaven appearing, 
The mystery of life and death is plain ; 

Now to the grave we can descend unfearing. 
In sure and certain hope to rise again ! 

Jane Borthwick 



ASCENSION DAY 

OSHOW me not my Saviour dying, 
As on the Cross He bled ; 
Nor in the tomb, a captive lying. 

For He has left the dead : 
Then bid me not that form extended 

For my Redeemer own, 
Who, to the highest heavens ascended. 
In glory fills the Throne. 

Weep not for Him at Calvary's station ; 

Weep only for thy sins. 
View where He lay with exultation, — 

'Tis there our hope begins : 



FRIDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 195 

Yet stay not there, thy sorrows feeding, 

Amid the scenes He trod ; 
Look up, and see Him interceding 

At the right hand of God. 

Still in the shameful Cross I glory, 

Where His dear blood was spilt ; 
For there the great Propitiatory 

Abolished all my guilt. 
Yet what, 'mid conflict and temptation, 

Shall strength and succour give ? 
He lives, the Captain of Salvation ; 

Therefore His servants live. 

By death, He death's dark king defeated, 

And overcame the grave ; 
Rising, the triumph He completed ; 

He lives, He reigns to save. 
Heaven's happy myriads bow before Him j 

He comes, the Judge of men ; 
These eyes shall see Him, and adore Him : 

Lord Jesus, own me then. 

JOSIAH CONDER 



FRIDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 

HE is gone — we heard Him say, 
"Good that I should go away " : 
Gone is that dear form and face, 
But not gone His present grace ; 
Though Himself no more we see, 
Comfortless we cannot be — 
No ! His Spirit still is ours, 
Quickening, freshening all our powers. 



196 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

He is gone — towards their goal, 
World and Church must onward roll ; 
Far behind we leave the past ; 
Forward are our glances cast : 
Still His words before us range 
Through the ages, as they change : 
Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead. 
He will give whate'er we need. 

He is gone — but we once more 
Shall behold Him as before, 
In the Heaven of heavens the same 
As on earth He went and came. 
In the many mansions there, 
Place for us He will prepare : 
In that world, unseen, unknown, 
He and we may yet be one. 

He is gone — but, not in vain, 
Wait until He comes again : 
He is risen, He is not here ; 
Far above this earthly sphere : 
Evermore in heart and mind, 
Where our peace in Him we find. 
To our own Eternal Friend, 
Thitherward let us ascend. 

Arthur Penrhyn Stanley 



SATURDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 

KING of kings, and wilt Thou deign 
O'er this wayward heart to reign ? 
Henceforth take it for Thy throne, 
Rule here. Lord, and rule alone. 



SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 197 

Then, like Heaven's angelic bands, 
Waiting for Thine high commands, 
All my powers shall wait on Thee, 
Captive, yet divinely free. 

At Thy Word my will shall bow. 
Judgment, reason, bending low ; 
Hope, desire, and every thought, 
Into glad obedience brought. 

Zeal shall haste on eager wing. 
Hourly some new gift to bring ; 
Wisdom, humbly casting down 
At Thy feet her golden crown. 

Tuned by Thee in sweet accord. 
All shall sing their gracious Lord ; 
Love, the Leader of the choir. 
Breathing round her seraph fire. 

Be it so : my heart's Thy throne. 
All my powers Thy sceptre own, 
And, with them on Thine own hill. 
Live rejoicing in Thy will. 

W. A. Muhlenberg 



THE SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 

" T OOK, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire 
J—/ And spirit horses breathing flame and 
dread : 

Ah, woe is me ! Angelic powers conspire 
To snatch thee in a moment from my head ! 

O grant me, Lord, responsive to my vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! 



198 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" And must I, then, deserted and alone, 
Whose help was found in thee (Elisha cried), 

Take up thy strenuous war with Israel's Throne, 
That scorns Jehovah in its boastful pride ? 

O grant me, Lord, responsive to my vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! " 

So too the Eleven, when they gazed on high, 
Felt, like the Prophet, separation's throe : 

The cloud, that hid the Saviour in the sky. 

Chilled with its gloom their loving hearts below ! 

Ah I grant them. Lord, responsive to their vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! 

Earth's princes and the people of the Jews 
Hurling their threats add terror to their loss, 

And will the flock of orphaned tremblers choose 
To champion in the world the painful Cross ? 

Oh, grant them. Lord, responsive to their vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! 

Nor less to-day the Church prolongs the theme, 
Scanning with patience the celestial door ; 

Human in every part, can she redeem 

The whole wide world from shore to distant 
shore ? 

Oh, grant her. Lord, respofisive to her vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit noiv ! 

And I, too, watching fondly in my sphere. 
Till once again the closed Heavens are rife 

With signs of Thy return, am oft in fear 
Lest I betray the purpose of my life ! 

Oh, grant me, Lord, responsive to my vow, 

A double portion of Thy Spirit ?iow ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 199 

WEEK OF THE SUNDAY AFTER 
ASCENSION DAY 

MONDAY 

THOU bidd'st us " visit in distress 
The widow and the fatherless " ; 
And wilt Thou leave us comfortless ? 
Wilt Thou depart ? 

Wilt Thou, O Lord, Thy Church forsake? 
Must she a widow's garments take ? 
Wilt Thou Thy children orphans make ? 
O grief of heart ! 

No : Christ will visit in distress 
The widow and the fatherless ; 
Seeming to leave you comfortless. 
He loves you most. 

For He departs, that He may send 
Another Comforter and Friend, 
To tarry with you till the end ; 
The Holy Ghost. 

At Thy first birth. Thou, Lord, didst wait, 
And forty days from it didst date, 
And then Thy Zion's temple gate 
Did welcome Thee. 

Old age with joy saw Thee appear. 
And widowhood found comfort there ; 
Perhaps the doves, then offered, were 
A prophecy. 



200 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And now the fortieth from Thy birth, 
To endless Hfe, from womb of earth, 
Will be a day of joy and mirth 
In realms above. 

For though Thy earthly course will end. 
To Zion's gates Thou wilt ascend, 
To be our great High Priest, and send 
The Heavenly Dove. 

Why then this sorrow and dismay ? 
'Tis good that He should go away, 
He goes, that He for you may pray, 
And never cease ; 

He goes as Man, that you may see 
By faith His present Deity ; 
That here the Comforter may be, 
And give you peace ! 

Christopher Wordsworth 



TUESDAY 

'■■pHE Lord is King ! lift up thy voice, 
A O earth, and all ye Heavens rejoice 
From world to world the joy shall ring : 
The Lord Omnipotent is King. 

The Lord is King ! who then shall dare 
Resist His will, distrust His care, 
Or murmur at His wise decrees, 
Or doubt His royal promises? 

The Lord is King ! Child of the dust, 
The Judge of all the earth is just : 



SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 201 

Holy and true are all His ways ; 
Let every creature speak His praise. 

He reigns ! Ye saints, exalt your strains ; 
Your God is King, your Father reigns ; 
And He is at the Father's side, 
The Man of Love, the Crucified. 

Come, make your wants, your burdens known. 
He will present them at the Throne ; 
And Angel-bands are waiting there. 
His messages of love to bear. 

Alike pervaded by His eye. 
All parts of His dominion lie ; 
This world of ours and worlds unseen, 
And thin the boundary between. 

One Lord, one empire, all secures : 
He reigns, — and life and death are yours. 
Through earth and Heaven one song shall ring, 
The Lord Omnipotent is King. 

JOSIAH CONDER 



WEDNESDAY 



H 



IS eye toward the promised land, 

Submiss and gentle, see him stand, 
Bent o'er his gifted rod : 



Meek amid such magnificence 
Of certain power, his heart intense 
With faith, and love, and reverence. 
He worshipped the true God. 



202 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

That God had known him face to face, 
Had showered upon his spirit, grace, 
Upon his features, light : 

By him, the Lord of hosts had wrought 
His signs and wonders, while He brought 
His people home ; by Moses, taught 
His covenant, His might. 

Hard by flowed Jordan ; Moses heard 
In meekness, and obeyed God's word, 
His thrilling chant rung high : 

And forth the camp, calm and content, 
His eye not dim, his strength not spent. 
From Moab's plain the prophet went 
Up Nebo's steep to die. 

No mortal ear drank his last breath 
No mortal eye beheld his death ; 
He died on Abarim : 

His grave, no mortal mourners tend : 
His God was with him, as his friend, 
Was comforting his latter end, 
Now, ever blesses him. 



THURSDAY 

WHAT a world with all its sorrows ! 
What a scene, would it but stay ; 
What an earth, if all its morrows 
Were as fair as this " to-day " ! 

When earth's summer-pulse is beating 
With the fever-fire of June, 



SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 203 

And the flowers fling up their greeting, 
Quivering to the joyous noon : 

When the streamlet, smihng gladly, 

Hurries calmly, brightly by. 
Not a voice around speaks sadly. 

Not a murmur nor a sigh. 

Sunbeams, with their fond caresses. 
Smooth each rosebud's velvet fold. 

Lingering in the glowing tresses 
Of yon rich laburnum's gold. 

Nature all its gay adorning 

Opens to the day's bright bliss. 

Like a child at early morning. 
Wakened by its mother's kiss. 

What a world ! when all its sorrow 

Shall for ever pass away ! 
What an earth ! when each "to-morrow" 

Shall be fairer than "to-day." 

HORATIUS BONAR 



FRIDAY 

IT is not Heaven alone, 
Which godliness attains ; 
It makes as much its own 
The best of worldly gains : 
Since out of all on earth it draws 
The ore which of its worth is cause. 

From godliness there flows 
A current of content : 



204 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And ill to blessing grows, 

By thought of blessing meant : 
Each lot as sent by God it holds ; 
And each a bounty straight unfolds. 

It keeps the mind from wrong, 

And so of peace secure ; 
It keeps the body strong, 
Because it keeps it pure : 
And hath enough, on which to wait 
The heirship of a large estate. 

And thus a double bliss 
To godliness pertains : 
The world which present is, 
And that to come it gains : 
The earthly good is Heaven's begun ; 
The promise rolls the two in one. 

Lord Kinloch 



WHITSUN EVE 

COME, Holy Spirit, from above, 
And from the realms of light and love 
Thine own bright rays impart. 
Come, Father of the fatherless, 
Come, Giver of all happiness, 
Come, Lamp of every heart. 

O Thou, of comforters the best, 

O Thou, the soul's most welcome guest, 

O Thou, our sweet repose, 
Our resting-place from life's long care. 
Our shadow from the world's fierce glare. 

Our solace in all woes. 



WHITSUN DAY 205 

O Light Divine, all light excelling, 
Fill with Thyself the inmost dwelling 

Of souls sincere and lowly ; 
Without Thy pure Divinity, 
Nothing in all humanity. 

Nothing is strong or holy. 

Wash out each dark and sordid stain. 
Water each dry and arid plain. 

Raise up the bruised reed, 
Enkindle what is cold and chill, 
Relax the stiff and stubborn will. 

Guide those that guidance need. 

Give to the good who find in Thee 
The Spirit's perfect liberty. 

Thy sevenfold power and love. 
Give virtue strength its crown to win, 
Give struggling souls their rest from sin, 

Give endless peace above. 

Arthur Penrhyn Stanley 



WHITSUN DAY 

CREATOR Spirit, by Whose aid 
The world's foundations first were laid. 
Come visit every pious mind ', 
Come pour Thy joys on human kind, 
From sin and sorrow set us free 
And make Thy temples worthy Thee. 

O source of uncreated light. 
Thy Father's promis'd Paraclete ! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire. 



2o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Come, and Thy sacred unction bring 
To sanctify us while we sing. 

Plenteous of grace, descend from high 
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ! 
Thou strength of His Almighty hand 
Whose power does Heaven and earth command, 
Proceeding Spirit, our defence, 
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense. 
And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence ! 

Refine and purge our earthly parts ; 
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts ! 
Our frailties help, our vice control, 
Submit the senses to the soul : 
And when rebellious they are grown. 
Then lay Thy hand and hold them down. 
Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow. 
And lest our feet should step astray. 
Protect and guide us in the way. 

Make us eternal truths receive, 
And practise all that we believe. 
Give us Thyself, that we may see 
The Father and the Son by Thee. 

Immortal honour, endless fame. 
Attend the Almighty Father's name. 
The Saviour Son be glorified 
Who for lost man's redemption died ; 
And equal adoration be, 
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee. 

John Dryden 



MONDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 207 



MONDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 

GRACIOUS Spirit, dwell with me ; 
I myself would gracious be, 
And with words that help and heal 
Would Thy life in mine reveal, 
And with actions bold and meek 
Would for Christ my Saviour speak. 

Truthful Spirit, dwell with me ; 
I myself would truthful be, 
And with wisdom kind and clear 
Let Thy life in mine appear, 
And with actions brotherly 
Speak my Lord's sincerity. 

Silent Spirit, dwell with me ; 

I myself would quiet be. 

Quiet as the growing blade 

Which through earth its way has made. 

Silently, like morning light. 

Putting mists and chills to flight. 

Mighty Spirit, dwell with me ; 
I myself would mighty be, 
Mighty so as to prevail 
Where unaided man must fail, 
Ever by a mighty hope 
Pressing on and bearing up. 

Holy Spirit, dwell with me ; 
I myself would holy be ; 
Separate from sin, I would 



2o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Choose and cherish all things good, 

And whatever I can be 

Give to Him, Who gave me Thee ! 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



TUESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEI< 



-V 



HOLY Spirit, Truth Divine ! 
Dawn upon this soul of mine ; 
Word of God, and Inward Light ! 
Wake my spirit, clear my sight. 

Holy Spirit, Love Divine ! 
Glow within this heart of mine ; 
Kindle every high desire ; 
Perish self in Thy pure fire ! 

Holy Spirit, Power Divine ! 
Fill and nerve this will of mine ; 
By the way I strongly live 
Bravely bear and nobly strive. 

Holy Spirit, Right Divine ! 
King within my conscience reign ; 
Be my Lord, and I shall be 
Firmly bound, for ever free. 

Holy Spirit, Peace Divine ! 
Still this restless heart of mine ; 
Speak to calm this tossing sea 
Stayed in Thy tranquillity. 

Holy Spirit, Joy Divine ! 
Gladden Thou this heart of mine ; 



WEDNESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 209 

In the desert ways I sing 
"Spring, O Well ! for ever spring." 

S. Longfellow 



WEDNESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 

SHALL I, for fear of feeble man, 
Thy Spirit's course in me restrain ? 
Or undismay'd in deed and word, 
Be a true witness to my Lord ? 

Awed by a mortal's frown^ shall I 
Conceal the Word of God most high ? 
How then before Thee shall I dare 
To stand, or how Thy anger bear ? 

No ; let man rage ! since Thou wilt spread 
Thy shadowing wings around my head : 
Since in all pain Thy tender love 
Will still my sweet refreshment prove. 

Saviour of men ! Thy searching eye 
Does all my inmost thoughts descry : 
Doth aught on earth my wishes raise ? 
Or the world's favour, or its praise ? 

The love of Christ does me constrain, 
To seek the wandering souls of men : 
With cries, entreaties, tears to save, 
To snatch them from the gasping grave. 

My life, my blood I here present, 
If for Thy truth they may be spent : 
Fulfil Thy sov'reign counsel, Lord : 
Thy Will be done ! Thy Name ador'd ! 



2IO CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Give me Thy strength, O God of power ! 
Then let winds blow, or thunders roar, 
Thy faithful witness v/ill I be — 
'Tis fix'd ! I can do all through Thee ! 

- George Whitefield 



THURSDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 



H 



OLY SPIRIT, come, we pray. 

Come from Heaven, and shed the ray 
Of Thy light divine. 



Come, Thou Father of the poor, 
Giver from a boundless store, 

Light of hearts, O shine ! 

Matchless Comforter in woe. 
Sweetest Guest the soul can know. 
Living waters blest ; 

When we weep, our solace sweet. 
Coolest shade in summer heat, 
In our labour rest. 

Holy and most blessed Light, 
Make our inmost spirits bright 

With Thy radiance mild ; 

For without Thy sacred powers 
Nothing can v/e own of ours. 
Nothing undefiled. 

What is arid fresh bedew. 
What is sordid cleanse anew. 

Balm on the wounded pour. 



FRIDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 211 

What is rigid gently bend, 

On what is cold Thy fervour send, 

What has strayed restore. 

To Thine own in every place 
Give the sacred sevenfold grace ; 
Give Thy faithful this. 

Give to virtue its reward, 
Safe and peaceful end afford ; 
Give eternal bliss. 
King Robert Second of France 



FRIDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 

I HOLD a joy, with which I feel 
A stranger intermeddleth not : 
Which lies too deeply hid to steal ; 
Which wears a form too pure to blot. 

Mine own it is, all claim beyond ; 

For none its secret treasure knows ; 
No joy can wholly correspond ; 

Nought earthly give it cause, or close. 

It wakes within, I know not how. 
Save that from Thee, O Holy Dove, 

There comes, Christ's cleansing to avow, 
A gladness lighting from above. 

Thy teaching of an holy walk 

The heart with healthful glow imbues ; 
And checked desire, and chastened talk, 

The gleam of conscious grace diffuse. 



212 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I hold the joy midst cares and pains, 
Like secret kept on martyr's rack ; 

And 'neath repented sin remains 
A spark to bring the radiance back. 

It cannot boast a rapturous sense, 
Like relish of earth's lofty state ; 

But surer rests, though less intense, 
In bosom fixed to hope and wait. 

An heirship in the future lies ; 

And present wealth I lightly miss : 
Joy whatsoe'er would dim defies, 

Bright in the gleam of coming bliss. 

Lord Kinloch 



SATURDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 

SPIRIT, exiled long from earth. 
Who, like rainfall after dearth, 
Poured'st down from Christ on high. 
Leave no more this world of ours. 
But with all Thy heavenly 'powers 
In the Church be ever nigh ! 

Thou Who, by our Prophet sent. 
Didst the Apostles' mind frequent, 

Till they grasped the Truth He taught, 
Oh, in this perplexed age ^ 

Shine upon the Holy Page 

And illuminate our thought ! 

Unction from our great High Priest, 
Flowing down to be increased 



TRINITY SUNDAY 213 

Through the Lord's ordained signs 
Come, anoint each sacred Rite 
And Thyself with us unite, 

When our soul to God inclines ! 

Power of Heaven's enthroned King, 
Who to Peter's heart didst bring 

Strength to brave the angry Jews, 
Oh that now with royal sway 
Thou would'st teach us to obey 

Every thought Thou dost infuse ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



TRINITY SUNDAY 

MOST High and Holy Trinity ! 
Who of Thy mercy mild 
Hast form'd me here in Time, to be 

Thy image and Thy child : 
Oh let me love Thee day and night 
With all my soul, with all my might ; 
Oh come, Thyself my soul prepare, 
And make Thy dwelling ever there ! 

Father ! replenish with Thy grace 

This longing heart of mine, 
Make it Thy quiet dwelling-place, 

Thy sacred inmost shrine ! 
Forgive that oft my spirit wears 
Her time and strength in trivial cares. 
Enfold her in Thy changeless peace. 
So she from all but Thee may cease ! 

O God the Son ! Thy wisdom's light 
On my dark reason pour ; 



2 14 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Forgive that things of sense and sight 

Were all her joy of yore ; 
Henceforth let every thought and deed 
On Thee be fix'd, from Thee proceed, 
Draw me to Thee, for I would rise 
Above these earthly vanities ! 

O Holy Ghost ! Thou fire of love, 

Enkindle with Thy flame my will ; 
Come with Thy strength, Lord, from above. 

Help me Thy bidding to fulfil : 
Forgive that I so oft have done 
What I as sinful ought to shun ; 
Let me with pure and quenchless fire 
Thy favour and Thyself desire ! 

Most High and Holy Trinity ! 

Draw me away far hence. 
And fix upon eternity 

All power of soul and sense ! 
Make me at one within ; at one 
With Thee on earth ; when life is done 
Take me to dwell in fight with Thee, 
Most High and Holy Trinity ! 

Lyra Germanica 



MONDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

FAITH of our fathers ! living still 
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword ; 
Oh how our hearts beat high with joy 

Whene'er we hear that glorious word ; 
Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! 
We will be true to thee till death. 



TUESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 215 

Gur fathers chain'd in prisons dark, 

Were still in heart and conscience free ; 

How sweet would be their children's fate, 
If they, like them, could die for thee ! 

Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! 

We will be true to thee till death. 

Faith of our fathers ! we will love 
Both friend and foe in all our strife ; 

And preach thee, too, as love knows how, 
By kindly words and virtuous life ; 

Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! 

We will be true to thee till death. 

Frederick William Faber 



TUESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

SPIRIT, soul and body's union, 
Mingling wath the heavenly host, 
One with God in Christ's communion, 
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

With the water, blood, and spirit 

Sanctified in one on earth. 
Wholly blameless, may be merit. 

Wholly all the heavenly birth. 

Light and cloud of God's indwelling. 
Breathed to make a living soul, 

Spirit, passion's fury quelling 
With a more than man's control. 

Mirror of that breath's reflection. 
Soul, yet dew'd with earthly sense, 



2i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Source of holiest affection, 
Shrine of purest innocence. 

Body, that shall be celestial, 
Now so sinful and so frail, 

Outer court of things terrestrial. 
Parted with the fleshly veil. 

O the joy, when, without ending. 
When your three-fold work is done, 

Spirit, soul, and body blending, 
You shall be with God in one. 

Herbert Kynaston 



WEDNESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

" /^UR Father" — happy he that knows 

Vy Of that dear word the sweet repose ; 
Who on Thy Will doth strive to lean, 
And hopes of comfort wean 
From her, our evil mother's breast ; — 
Yea, like a weaned child doth yield, and is at rest. 

As darker vengeance seem'd to dwell 
On Thy forsaken Israel, 
And Zion's daughter had her throne 
Upon the desert stone. 
As Canaan's sun sunk down beneath the sea, 
The brighter broke the lights of Gospel prophecy. 

Now that we, wise and prudent grown. 
Forget the lore to babes made known, 
And there are sounds upon the wind 
Of Judgment close behind, 



THURSDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 217 

All will be well, if sights of stern alarm 
But teach to ding more close unto a Father's arm. 

So may we walk through that dark dell 
Where death and death's dim shadows dwell, 
Knowing beyond in that bright vale 
Nor health nor peace shall fail ; 
The silver eye of Heaven looks out afar 
On evening going down upon her golden car. 

And we too may look back erewhile, 
And from a Parent's bosom smile. 
And sing His praise for endless day, 
" Who left us not a prey ; 
As birds from fowler's snare, so we 
Have 'scap'd ; the snare is broke, we are for ever 
free." 

Isaac Williams 



THURSDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

I LATELY talked with one who strove 
To show that all my faith was dim, 
That his alone, the road to Heaven ; 
And thus it was I answered him — 

" Strike not the staff I hold away, 
You cannot give me yours, dear friend ; 

Up the steep hill our paths are set 
In different wise, to one sure end. 

" What though with eagle-glance upfixt 
On heights beyond our mortal ken, 

You tread the broad sure stones of faith 
More firmly than do weaker men. 



2i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" Snatch not away the glimmering light 
The father holds, the son rejects, 

Nor thrust your candle in their eyes, 
And blind them, — into narrow sects. 

" To each according to his strength : 
But as we leave the plains below, 

Let us carve out a wider stair, 

A broader pathway through the snow. 

"And when upon the golden crest 
We stand at last together, freed 

From mists that gather round the base, 
And clouds that but obscure our creed, 

"We shall perceive that though our steps 
Have wandered wide apart, dear friend, 

No pathway can be wholly wrong 
That leads unto one perfect end." 

Hamilton Aide 



FRIDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

LET thy gold be cast in the furnace, 
Thy red gold, precious and bright ; 
Do not fear the hungry fire 

With its caverns of burning light : 
And thy gold shall return more precious, 

Free from every spot and stain ; 
For gold must be tried by fire. 
As a heart must be tried by pain ! 

In the cruel fire of Sorrow 

Cast thy heart ; do not faint or wail ; 



SATURDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 219 

Let thy hand be firm and steady ; 

Do not let thy spirit quail : 
But wait till the trial is over, 

And take thy heart again ; 
For as gold is tried by fire, 

So a heart must be tried by pain ! 

I shall know by the gleam and glitter 

Of the golden chain you wear. 
By your heart's calm strength in loving 

Of the fire they have had to bear. 
Beat on, true heart, for ever ; 

Shine bright, strong golden chain ; 
And bless the cleansing fire 

And the furnace of living pain. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



SATURDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 

WIDE the compass of the world, 
Peopled by a countless host ; 
And the flag of Sin unfurled 

Waves in pride o'er every coast ! 
Therefore, Lord, we said : — " In vain 
Strive we to enlarge Thy reign ! " 

Yet we hear Thy sure command : — 
** Go and make your voices ring 

With My Gospel in each land, 
Till the nations own Me King ! " 

Therefore woe be on us, Lord, 

Should we fail to preach Thy Word ! 



220 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Something greater^ too, than fear 
Sways us now with fond control : 

Moved by love, we know how dear 
Is Thy service to the soul ! 

Therefore, Lord, "we will proclaim 

Joyfully Thy blessed Name ! . 

What though we ourselves are weak 
And the task beyond our power ? 

Thou, O Lord, to those who seek, 
Givest Grace from hour to hour. 

Therefore we advance to fight, 

Sure of victory by Thy might ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

"/^ OD is Love," the Heavens tell it, 
vJ Through their glorious orbs of light ; 

In that glad and golden language. 
Speaking to us day and night, 

Their great story, 

" God is Love," and God is Might. 

And the teeming earth rejoices, 

In that message from above ; 
With ten thousand thousand voices, 

Telling back, from hill, and grove, 
Her glad story, 
God is Might, and " God is Love." 

Through these anthems of Creation, 

Struggling up with gentle strife, 
Christian songs, of Christ's salvation, 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 221 

To the world, with blessings rife, 
Tell their story, 
" God is Love," and God is Life. 

Through that precious " Love " He sought us, 

Wand'ring from His holy ways ; 
With that precious " Life " He bought us ; 
Then let all our future days. 

Tell this story. 
Love's our life — our lives be praise. 

John S. B. Monsell 



WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

T MMORTAL Love, for ever full, 
-*- For ever flowing free ; 
For ever shared, for ever whole, 
A never-ebbing sea ! 

Our outward lips confess the Name 

All other names above ; 
Love only knoweth whence it came. 

And comprehendeth Love. 

Blow, winds of God, awake and blow 

The mists of earth away ! 
Shine out, O Light Divine, and show 

How far and wide we stray ! 

Hush every lip, close every book, 
The strife of tongues forbear ; 



22 2 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Why forward reach, or backward look, 
For Love that clasps like air ? 

We may not climb the heavenly steeps 
To bring the Lord Christ down : 

In vain we search the lowest deeps, 
For Him no depths can drown. 



In joy of inward peace, or sense 

Of sorrow over sin, 
He is His own best evidence, 

His witness is within. 

No fable old, nor mythic lore, 
Nor dream of bards and seers, 

No dead fact stranded on the shore 
Of the oblivious years, — 

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 

A present help is He ; 
And Faith has still its Olivet, 

And Love its Galilee. 

John Greenleaf Whittier 



TUESDAY 

LOVE hath descended from His Throne on high. 
And taken brotherhood with man below ; 
A Man full pledged to sorrow, pledged to sigh, 
He pour'd His Love on those that wrought His 
woe. 
What surer proof could best affection show 
Than thus to suffer? And, for us if He, 
Shall we not for His sake, some suffering know ; 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 223 

That we, as lov'd, may also loving be, 
And for Love's sake, by Love, from sin and shame 
be free? 

But Love doth not in contemplation dwell, 

Lock'd in the bosom's innermost recess, 
Which it doth still with sighs and longing swell 

But never passeth ; which it may oppress 
By brooding thoughts, to utter hopelessness, 

But never ease by action ; — forth it goes 
And doth itself to that high task address 

Whence only cometh solace to all woes, 
And which alone the fount of endless gladness 
knows. 

The task of Love is that of man below, 

Fulfilment of the law of God above ; 
The only task which doth perfection know. 

And which for its own sake doth merit love. 
And upon earth, as not of earth, doth move : 

O happy, happy, who Love's task fulfil. 
Nor from affection's settled purpose rove ; 

But their true loving Lord do copy still, 
And, for Love's sake, by Love, do execute Love's 
will. 

A. H. Wratislaw 



WEDNESDAY 

ALL things that are on earth shall wholly pass 
away. 
Except the Love of God, which shall live and last 

for aye. 
The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; 
The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and 
tender green ; 



224 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant 

song, 
And the nightingale shall cease to chant the 

evening long ; 
The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that 

kills, 
And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the 

hills. 
The goat and antiered stag, the wolf and the fox, 
The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of 

the rocks. 
And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden 

dust shall lie ; 
And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, 

shall die. 
And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be 

no more, 
And they shall bov»' to death, who ruled from 

shore to shore ; 
And the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell, 
With the rolling firmament, where the starry 

armies dwell. 
Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass 

away. 
Except the Love of God, which shall live and last 

for aye. 

William Cullen Bryant 



THURSDAY 

WHAT joyful harvester did ere obtain 
The sweet fruition of his hopeful gain. 
Till he in hardy labours first had passed 
The summer's heat, and stormy winter's blast ? 
A sable night returns a shining morro'.v, 
And days of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow; 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 225 

The way to bliss lies not on beds of down, 
And he that has no cross deserves no crown. 
There's but one Heaven, one place of perfect ease, 
In man it lies, to take it where he please, 
Above, or here below : and few men do 
Enjoy the one, and taste the other too : 
Wisdom, the antidote of sad despair, 
Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are. 
Through patient sufferance ; and doth apprehend, 
Not as they seeming are, but as they end. 
Who sends affliction, sends an end, and He 
Best knows what's best for Him, what's best for 

me: 
'Tis not for me to carve me where I like ; 
Him pleases when He list to stroke or strike. 
I'll neither wish, nor yet avoid temptation. 
But still expect it, and make preparation : 
If He think best my faith shall not be tried ; 
Lord, keep me spotless from presumptuous pride : 
If otherwise, with Thy trial, give me care 
By thankful patience to avoid despair : 
Fit me to bear whate'er Thou shalt assign ; 
I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine. 
Howe'er let me not boast, nor yet repine. 
With trial, or without. Lord, make me Thine. 

Francis Quarles 



FRIDAY 

O BRIGHT Ideals, how ye shine, 
Aloft in realms of air ! 
Ye pour your streams of light divine 
Above our low despair. 

I've climbed, and climbed these weary years 

To come your glories nigh ; 
p 



226 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I'm tired of climbing, and in tears 
Here on the earth I lie. 

As a weak child all vainly tries 

To pluck the evening star, 
So vain have been my life-long cries 

To reach up where ye are. 

Shine on, shine on, through earth's dark night, 

Nor let your glories pale ! 
Some stronger soul may win the height 

Where weaker ones mast fail. 

And this one thought of hope and trust 

Comes with its soothing balm. 
As here I lay my brow in dust, 

And breathe my lowly psalm, — 

That not for heights of victory won, 

But those I tried to gain. 
Will come my gracious Lord's "Well done ! " 

And sweet effacing rain. 



'to 



Then on your awful heights of blue 

Shine on, for ever shine ; 
I come ! I'll climb, I'll fly to you, 

For endless years of mine. 

Edmund Hamilton Sears 



SATURDAY 

WE all are in one school ; 
Each hath his daily lesson, line on line ; 
But sterner chastisement and stricter rule 
God doth for some design. 



FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 227 

Nor chief nor only those 
Who break their bands, and cast their cords 

away, 
Who, unsubmissive, murmur and oppose. 

He scourgeth day by day. 

But whom the Master's eye 
With wise discernment singles from the throng, 
Beholding that far down which, raised on high 

Shall turn to Angel's song ; — 

Unseen, deep-hidden love, 
Of power untried, or wise unconscious skill, 
By outward hindrance marred. He thus doth 
prove 

Chastising to His will. 

He wisely loveth all ; 
And whom He loves. He still doth train and 

teach ; 
But whom He loveth most, on them doth fall 

Ofttimes His sharpest speech ; 

Whereat they wonder much 
And envy oft, when other souls the while, 
That lightlier serve, receive the gentler touch. 

The kinder-seeming smile. 

But He doth all things right. 
Gathering both pearls and diamonds for His 

crown. 
Those cleansing, these transforming for delight, 
Pruning all roughness down. 

Charles Lawrence Ford 



228 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

SKIRTING the azure of the summer sky 
Along the horizon like a wall of snow, 
A bank of cloud appeared, and, soaring high, 
Upraised at intervals a warlike show 
Of glistering bastions in an ordered row. 
But ah ! what change a few brief moments 
wrought ! 
The fleecy rampart lost its radiant glow : 
Its towery forms to other shapes were brought 
And the proud vision passed and spake another 
thought. 

All this was done with utter quietude, 

Far, far above the sounds of earthly care ; 
And I was moved therewith, and understood 
God speaking to me from the silent air : — 
" Seest thou," He asked, " the clouds enforced 
to wear 
Their shapes and hues for but a little space ? 
They teach thee how the world itself must 
fare; 
That stars and planets ebb and flow apace, 
And man must vary too before he see My 
Face ! " 

" If this be so, Eternal God," I said, 

" If every form must change but Thou 
alone, 
How are we mortals piteously misled ! 

Alas, we place the creatures on Thy Throne, 
Which, when Thine all-prevailing Breath has 
blown, 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 229 

Vanish like mists, that last not half a day ! 
Thou changeless Lord, since yonder clouds 
have shown 
Mortality its doom by their array, 
O draw my wandering love to rest in Thee alway ! " 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

" r~^ OD is my strength ! " — Be this my shield, 

^^ Whether my duty calls me forth 
To the high places of the field, 

Or to some modest path on earth. 
When the fierce fight begins to thicken, 

And the soul wrestles as for life, 
Striving my weary steps to quicken 

Ever onward through the strife ; 
How often would my spirit fail me. 

If I could not, amidst the fight. 
Hear the Lord's voice, when foes assail me, — 

" My son, go on in this thy might." 

When the world's enchantments lure me. 

Or when its menaces appal ; 
Nature too feeble to secure me, 

And certain in its pride to fall ; 
When tempted to forsake the way, 

Loving the present world too well. 
Backward to work, and watch, and pray ; 

In bondage to the enchanter's spell ; 



230 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

When, Lord, I walk too much by sight, 
When faith and hope are well-nigh flown, 

Teach me to lean upon Thy might, 
For I have none to call my own. 

In ev'ry trial and temptation. 

In all life's burdens, toils, and cares. 
The one great end, — the soul's salvation, 

Is that for which true faith prepares. 
Faint in myself, and yet pursuing, 

Faith is contented to obey. 
Knowing, Hke Gideon, God is doing 

His own great work in His own way. 
The way, however dark and dreary, 

Leads to a land where all is light, 
And I am strong, though faint and weary, 

If journeying in this Thy might. 

John Streatfeild 



TUESDAY 

"PVERMORE their lauds the Angel hosts are 
-L-' singing, 

Honour, praise, and glory to the Three in One ; 
Wherefore should not we too, our lowly service 
bringing. 
Swell that mighty chorus ever here beneath the 
sun? 

Saviour, Thou hast told us, wheresoe'er assemble 
Two or three to praise Thee, there Thou art 
surely nigh, 
There too are Thine Angels : so let the haughty 
tremble, 
For those mighty spirits fold their snow-white 
wings and cry — 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 231 

Lowly, lowly bending in deepest adoration — 

" Holy, holy, holy, God of Hosts," they sing : 
With their glorious voices they swell our faint 
oblation ; 
Round us still they hover when our sacrifice we 
bring. 

Into all the glories of our Rites most holy. 
Sacrificial wonders, Angels deign to look : 

Christ hath died for mortals in self-devotion lowly : 
Thence do Angels wait on man, so saith the 
Sacred Book. 

How can we be worthy, we weak and erring 
creatures. 
Of such wondrous blessing, that Angels us 
befriend ? 
Something grant us, Saviour, of those Angel 
natures, 
Love for Thee as boundless, love to serve Thee 
without end. 

Archer Gurney 



WEDNESDAY 

WORKMAN of God ! oh lose not heart, 
But learn what God is like ; 
And in the darkest battle-field 
Thou shalt know where to strike. 



Oh learn to scorn the praise of men ! 

Oh learn to lose with God ! 
For Jesus won the world through shame, 

And beckons thee His road. 



232 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG 

God's glory is a wondrous thing, 
Most strange in all its ways ; 

And of all things on earth, least like 
What men agree to praise. 

As He can endless glory weave 
From time's misjudging shame ; 

In His own world, He is content 
To play a losing game. 

Muse on His justice, downcast soul ! 

Muse, and take better heart ; 
Back with thine Angel to the field, 

Good luck shall crown thy part. 

God's justice is a bed where we 
Our anxious hearts may lay : 

And, weary with ourselves, may sleep 
Our discontent away. 

For right is right, since God is God, 
And right the day must win ; 

To doubt would be disloyalty, 
To falter would be sin. 

Frederick William Faber 



THURSDAY 

OH ! help me, Lord, to seek Thy face, 
Obedient to Thy call. 
To seek the presence of Thy grace. 
My strength, my life, my all. 

All I can wish is Thine to give ; 

I only ask Thy love — 
That greatest bliss I can receive. 

That bliss of Heaven above. 



SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 233 

In these dark scenes of pain and woe, 

What can my spirit find ? 
No happiness can dwell below, 

To fill th' immortal mind ! 

To Heaven my restless soul aspires : 

Oh, for a quickening ray 
To strengthen my poor faint desire, 

And cheer the tiresome way. 

The path to Thy divine abode 

Through weary deserts lies, 
A thousand snares beset the road, 

A thousand terrors rise. 

Satan and sin unite their art 

To keep me from my Lord ; 
Dear Saviour, guard my trembling heart. 

And guide me by Thy Word. 

My Guardian, my Almighty Friend, 
On Thee my soul would rest : 

On Thee alone my hopes depend — 
Be near, and I am blest. 

Anne Steele 



FRIDAY 

THE Poet scanned with mighty awe 
The mystery of Man ; 
He spake the strange things that he saw. 
And thus it ran : — 

" The silent stars are overhead, 

The silent graves below : 
A dream between — how quickly fled ! — 
Is all we know." 



234 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

He pointed up — he pointed down — 

The witnesses were there. 
O'er the between a veil was thrown 

He could not tear. ^ 

The Preacher saw the hand he raised, 

And heard the words he spake ; 
And in his soul with grief amazed 
A fire outbrake. 

" Poet," he cried, " the things we see 

They are not all we know ; 
The web of thy philosophy 
I rend it so ! " — 

He pointed with his eager hand 

Behind and then before, — 
And there, and there, for ever stand 
Two wonders more. 

" The silent stars sing out with mirth. 
The graves with grass are green : — 
Christ Cometh twice upon the earth ; — 
We live between ! " 

William Walsham How 



O 



SATURDAY 

FT when of God we ask 
For fuller, happier life, 



He sets us some new task 

Involving care and strife : 
Is this the boon for which we sought ? 
Has prayer new trouble on us brought ? 

This is indeed the boon, 

Though strange to us it seems ; 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 235 

We pierce the rock, and soon 

The blessing on us streams ; 

For when we are the most athirst, 

Then the clear waters on us burst. 

We toil as in a field, 

Wherein, to us unknown, 
A treasure lies concealed. 

Which may be all our own : 
And shall we of the toil complain 
That speedily will bring such gain ? 

We dig the wells of life, 

And God the waters gives ; 
We win our way by strife, 

Then He within us lives ; 
And only war could make us meet 
For peace so sacred and so sweet. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

HUSHED was the evening hymn, 
The Temple courts were dark ; 
The lamp was burning dim 
Before the sacred ark ; 
When suddenly a Voice Divine 
Rang through the silence of the shrine. 

The old man, meek and mild. 
The priest of Israel, slept ; 
His watch the Temple-child, 
The little Levite kept -, 



236 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And what from Eli's sense was sealed, 
The Lord to Hannah's son revealed. 

Oh ! give me Samuel's ear, 

The open ear,-0 Lord, 

Alive, and quick to hear 

Each whisper of Thy word : 
Like him to answer at Thy call. 
And to obey Thee first of all. 

Oh ! give me Samuel's heart, 

A lowly heart that waits, 

Where in Thy house Thou art. 

Or watches at Thy gates. 
By day and night, a heart that still 
Moves at the breathing of Thy will. 

Oh ! give me Samuel's mind, 

A sweet, unmurmuring faith, 

Obedient and resigned 

To Thee in life and death ; 
That I may read with child-like eyes 
Truths that are hidden from the wise. 

James Drummond Burns 



WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

GOD called the nearest Angels who dwell with 
Him above, 
The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was 
Love. 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 237 

"Arise," He said, " My Angels ! a wail of woe and 

sin 
Steals through the gate of Heaven, and saddens all 

within. 

" My harps take up the mournful strain that from 

a lost world swells. 
The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights 

the asphodels. 

"Fly downward to that under world, and on its 

souls of pain 
Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears 

like rain ! " 

Two faces bowed before the Throne veiled in their 

golden hair : 
Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark 

abyss of air. 

The way was strange, the flight was long ; at last 
the Angels came. 

Where swung the lost and nether world, red- 
wrapped in rayless flame. 

There Pity, shuddering, wept ; but Love, with faith 

too strong for fear, 
Took heart from God's almightiness, and smiled a 

smile of cheer. 

And lo ! that tear of Pity quenched the flame 

whereon it fell. 
And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered 

into hell ! 



238 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to 

the Throne, 
Four white wings folded at the feet of Him Who 

sat thereon ! 

And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than 

falling flake, 
Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice 

Eternal spake — 

" Welcome, My Angels ! ye have brought a holier 

joy to Heaven ; 
Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of 

sin forgiven ! " 

John Greenleaf Whittier 



TUESDAY 

BLESSED Light of saints on high. 
Who fill the mansions of the sky ; 
Sure defence, Whose mercy still 
Preserves Thy subjects here from ill ; 
O, my Jesus, make me know 
How to pay the thanks I owe. 

As the fond sheep that idly strays, 
With wanton play, through winding ways, 
Which never hits the road of home, 
O'er wilds of danger learns to roam. 
Till, wearied out with idle fear, 
And, passing there, and turning here, 
He will, for rest, to covert run, 
And meet the wolf he wish'd to shun ; 
Thus wretched I, through wanton will, 
Run blind and headlong on in ill : 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 239 

'Twas thus from sin to sin I flew, 

And thus I might have perish'd too : 

But Mercy dropp'd the likeness here, 

And show'd, and sav'd me from my fear. 

While o'er the darkness of my mind 

The Sacred Spirit purely shin'd, 

And mark'd, and brighten'd all the way 

Which leads to everlasting day, 

And broke the thickening clouds of sin. 

And fix'd the hght of love within. 

From hence my ravish'd soul aspires, 
And dates the rise of its desires. 
From hence to Thee, my God ! I turn, 
And fervent wishes say I burn, 
I burn, Thy glorious face to see, 
And live in endless joy with Thee. 

Thomas Parnell 



WEDNESDAY 

ONE in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine 
That never knew another will than Thine ! 
O Love ! that holds so many to Thee bound, 
Yet cannot rest until the lost be found. 

And one in ten through man's untoward neglect. 

Lost from the number of the Lord's elect ! 

Yet light Truth's candle, search the house well 

round. 
And that lost image of the Lord is found. 

And one in two, lost through the perverse will 
That cannot rest contented, and be still ! 
Loves triple cord, unbroken though unwound, 
Draws back to pardon, and the lost is found. 



240 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thus lost ! lost ! lost ! blight with their threefold 

curse 
The beauty of heart, home, and universe ! 
But threefold Love, with threefold glory crown'd, 
That lost ! lost ! lost ! blots out with found ! found ! 

found ! 

O Love ! so little losing ! at such cost 

Restoring to Thyself that little lost ! 

This, this Thy praise, through worlds on worlds 

renown'd 
" Was dead, and is alive — was lost — is found ! " 

John S. B. Monsell 



THURSDAY 

DARK was my lot, and long it spurned 
The poor reliefs that man could give ; 
Till God my wayward spirit turned. 

And bade me see, believe, and live. 
Then flowed my tears, then woke my tongue, 
And loud His gracious mercies sung. 

O what return can I bestow 

On Him Who needeth nought from me ? 
What can I give that will not flow 

In blessings back, my God, from Thee ? 
How rich on earth Thy cup of Love ! 
How richer still the fount above ! 

Be mine to own Thy gentle sway. 

To live, to die to Thee alone ; 
Whom should I love, and whom obey 

But Him Who made me twice His own ? 
Who formed me by His hving breath ? 
Who rescued me from sin and death ? 



THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 241 

Him will I praise ', heart, hand, and voice 
To Him shall daily offerings bring ; 

E'en now, in hope, I will rejoice, 
With all above, in spirit, sing ; 

Till I shall join those brighter choirs 

And add fresh themes for Angels' lyres. 

Henry Francis Lyte 



FRIDAY 

NOT here, not here : not where the sparkling 
waters 
Fade into mocking sands, as we draw near ; 
Where in the wilderness each footstep falters : 
I shall be satisfied — but oh, not here. 

Not here — where every dream of bliss deceives us, 
Where the worn spirit never gains its goal ; 
Where, haunted ever by the thought that grieves 

us. 
Across us floods of bitter memory roll. 

There is a land where every pulse is thrilling 
With rapture earth's sojourners may not know ; 
Where Heaven's repose the weary heart is 

stilling. 
And peacefully life's time-toss'd currents flow. 

Far out of sight, while yet the flesh infolds us. 
Lies the fair country where our hearts abide, 
And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us 
Than these few words : ** I shall be satisfied." 

Satisfied ! satisfied ! the spirit's yearning 
For sweet companionship with kindred minds ; 
The silent love that here meets no returning. 
The inspiration which no language finds. 
Q 



242 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Shall they be satisfied ? — the soul's vague longings, 
The aching void which nothing earthly fills ? 

what desires upon my soul are thronging, 
As I look upward to the heavenly hills ! 

Thither my weak and weary feet are tending — 
Saviour and Lord with Thy frail child abide : 
Guide me toward home, where, all my wanderings 
ended 

1 then shall see Thee and " be satisfied." 



SATURDAY 

STRIVE ; yet I do not promise 
The prize you dream of to-day 
Will not fade when you think to grasp it. 

And melt in your hand away ; 
But another and holier treasure 

You would not perchance disdain, 
Will come when your toil is over. 
And pay you for all your pain. 

Wait ; yet I do not tell you 

The hour you long for now, 
Will not come with its radiance vanished 

And a shadow upon its brow ; 
Yet far through the misty future. 

With a crown of starry light. 
An hour of joy you know not 

Is winging her silent flight. 

Pray ; though the gift you ask for 
May never comfort your fears, 

May never repay your pleading, 
Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 243 

An answer, not that you long for, 
But diviner, will come one day ; 

Your eyes are too dim to see it ; 
Yet strive, and wait, and pray. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

OH, deem not they are blest alone 
Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 
The Power Who pities man, hath shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night : 

And, grief may bide an evening guest, 
But joy shall come with early light. 

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier. 
Dost shed the bitter drops hke rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart. 
Though life its common gifts deny, — 

Though with a pierced and bleeding heart 
And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day 
And numbered every secret tear, 



244 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all His children suffer here. 

William Cullen Bryant 



WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

CHARMING flowers ! your day is come- 
Hours of sunshine, hope, and joy ; 
Cruel blasts no longer roam 
You to scatter and destroy. 

Open then your queenly state, 

All your boundless charms display ; 

Nature's eyes expectant wait 
With the watchful god of day. 

Western zephyrs crowd around 
With their fond devoted sighs, 

Constant lovers ever found 
Of your thousand magic dyes. 

And for you amid the trees 

Tuned is yonder serenade. 
Wafted softly on the breeze, 

By admiring songsters made. 

Happy flowers ! what bliss for you ! 

Dwelling all the day in light, 
Bathed at eve in showers of dew, 

Homage of the silent night. 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 245 

Go then, beauties ! proudly reign, 
Nobly spend your little breath : 

Fell disease and blight and pain 
Onward stalk with nipping death. 

Fleeter still than human glory. 
All your gorgeous pomps decay ; 

None to tell the fragrant story. 
Of your little royal day. 

Flowers of virtue only last, 

Fading though to mortal eyes — 

Lo ! their blossoms new they cast 
In the bowers of Paradise ! 

E. D. Jackson 



TUESDAY 

MAN hath a voice severe, 
His neighbour's fault to blame, 
A wakeful eye, a listening ear, 
To note his brother's shame. 

He, with suspicious glance, 
The curtained breast doth read. 
And raise the accusing balance high 
To weigh the doubtful deed. 

O Thou, Whose piercing thought 
Doth note each secret path. 
For mercy to Thy Throne we flee. 
From man's condemning wrath. 

Thou Who dost dimness mark 
In Heaven's resplendent way, 
And folly in that Angel host 
Who serve Thee night and day ; 



246 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

* 
How fearless should our trust 
In Thy compassion be, 
When from our brother of the dust 
We dare appeal to Thee. 

Lydia' Huntley Sigourney 



WEDNESDAY 

HOW beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way, 
Through deepest night, to realms of glorious 
day; 
But fierce the struggle, — fierce the moral fight, 
Ere Truth serene can sun herself in light. 

The age moves on ! — the nation's heaving mind 
Struggles to leave opposing mists behind ; 
And, having once its onward course begun, 
Aims at the light, as eagles seek the sun. 

The future children of this favour'd land 

Shall reap rewards from learning's liberal hand ; 

And education's blest and lucid beam 

On all shall fall with rich and copious stream. 

Those helpless poor — the aged, wan, and weak ; 
The sick who sigh, the child which cannot speak ; 
Rights have they — rights^ by claim of kindred 

blood, 
The right of freedom and the right of food. 

Too long stark poverty has been a crime, 
Darkly recorded on the rolls of time ! 
Too long, indeed ! — but now 'tis past, 'tis o'er. 
And civil slavery soon shall be no more. 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 247 

Ye lofty ones of earth, ye so-call'd " Great," 
Ye potent rulers in our Church and State, 
Give ear to what shall stamp th' historic page, 
Nor lag behind the progress of the age. 

The age moves on ! The nation's heaving mind 
Feels the true brotherhood of humankind, 
Expands its wings, and lo ! (its course begun) 
Aims at the lights as eagles seek the sun I 

John Peat 



THURSDAY 

THOUGH I am slow to trust Thee, Lord, 
Slow to believe Thy gracious word, 
Yet sweet Thy promise is to me, 
'* Sufficient is My grace for thee." 

Though trials often here, and care, 
This weary heart of mine must share, 
How comforting Thy word to me, 
" My grace sufficient is for thee." 

Thus I can triumph in distress, 
And find that even pain can bless. 
Feeling how sure Thy word to me, 
" Sufficient is My grace for thee." 

Thy love I know, O Lord, can shed 
Its beams o'er every path I tread. 
Reviving me and teaching me, 
" Sufficient is My grace for thee." 

For Thou canst feel each grief / feel, 
Canst sympathize, sustain, and heal^ 



248 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And sweetly bring the truth to me, 
" Thy grace sufficient is for me." 

O Saviour ! grace on me bestow, 
Then though mytears rriay sometimes flow, 
The precious truth my faith shall see, 
" My grace sufficient is for thee." 

And when I see Thee in the light 
Thy matchless glory makes so bright. 
Then shall I own, adoring Thee, 
*' Sufficient was Thy grace for me. 

E. C. 



FRIDAY 

ONE by one the sands are flowing, 
One by one the moments fall ; 
Some are coming, some are going ; 
Do not strive to grasp them all. 

One by one thy duties wait thee, 
Let thy whole strength go to each, 

Let no future dreams elate thee. 

Learn thou first what these can teach. 

One by one — bright gifts from Heaven- 
Joys are sent thee here below 

Take them readily when given. 
Ready be to let them go. 

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee 
Do not fear an armbd band ; 

One will fade as others greet thee, 
Shadows passing through the land, 



FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 249 

Do not look at life's long sorrow ; 

See how small each moment's pain ; 
God will help thee for to-morrow, 

So each day begin again. 

Every hour that fleets so slowly 

Has its task to do or bear ; 
Luminous the crown, and holy, 

When each gem is set with care. 

Do not linger with regretting. 
Or for passing hours despond ; 

Nor, the daily toil forgetting, 
Look too eagerly beyond. 

Hours are golden links, God's token, 
Reaching Heaven ; but one by one 

Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



SATURDAY 

SEE how yon little lark is borne 
With music up to heaven, 
To bask in sunlight ere the morn 
To vales beneath is given. 

That bird Salvation's sign hath made 
By stretching forth its wings ; 

The cross upon his back is laid, 
And lo ! he soars and sings. 

Take off the fardel that he bears. 
He falleth in his flight ; 



250 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The cross is in the wings he wears ; 
He proves the burden light. 

So Christ hath laid His Cross on me ; 

It wings me to -the sky, 
And day by day, though sore it be, 

By that dear Cross live I. 

It beareth those by whom 'tis borne. 

And by its weight we rise, 
Who casts it down, he sinks forlorn ; 

Who takes it up, he flies. 

Easy the yoke, and light the load, 

Indeed, my spirit sings ; 
To him that pants for God's abode 

His cross shall prove his wings. 

Arthur Cleveland Coxe 



THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

THERE are no little things on earth. 
There's nought beneath the Christian's care. 
No virtuous deeds of little worth ; 

The flower, upon the mountain bare. 
Where never came admiring eye. 
The Lord has carved as curiously, 
Has stained it with as gorgeous dye, 
As though a thousand looks were there. 

Deem not the simple charms, that dwell 

In gentle tone and smiling face, 
The courtesy, that flings a spell 

Of winning love and quiet grace 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 251 

O'er common deeds in silence wrought, 
Beneath the Christian's careful thought ; 
Another love our Lord has taught, 
Adorning many a secret place. 

Upon the lonely mountain height 

He bids His fair young blossoms swell, 

For fragrance all and beauty bright 

Forth bursting from each dark green shell ; 

And shall no flowers of courtesie 

Within our lowly hamlets be, 

To brighten with their fragrance free 
The homes where poor men dwell ? 

Oh ! yes, the temple stones of old 

Admiring glances ever drew. 
All fair and beauteous to behold, 

Ranged in their polished order due ; 
And lovely deeds beseem us all, 
The stones in Christ's own temple wall, 
And nought is trivial, nought is small. 

That we, for His Great Name, can do. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HOW sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd 
Growing with growth ; and strength by 
strength attain'd. 
As higher heights and broader ways expand 
A freer air more near th' immortal land. 



252 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

More treasure stor'd in Heaven ! Then habit's might 
Gives armour, makes the yoke and burden hght, 
When with spontaneous spring the heart ascends 
In prayer to Heaven, in prayer begins and ends ; 
Till custom shall to nature's strength attain, 
Duty her present joy, her future gain, 
Opening a wider path in green old age 
Strewed with calm hopes of her high heritage. 
Then wisdom's self descending from the sky 
Shall train thy heart to glad philosophy ; 
And Christ Himself upon the way appears 
In things of Heaven to school thine eyes and ears, 
To walk with thee, as erst with them of old, 
And all the world around thee to unfold. 
The scene to worldlings where their glory dies, 
The grave, wherein their hope in ruin lies, 
Becomes replete with pictures ever new. 
Presenting heavenly lessons to the view ; — 
Portraying things of our immortal birth, 
As evening clouds oft shadow things of earth. 
Obscure and transient, yet as by they sail 
There the full heart reads many a solemn tale ; 
Each object seen becomes a speaking sign. 
Which with a finger points to things divine, 
A mirror wherein things celestial pass, 
Eternity disclosed as in a glass. 

Isaac Williams 



TUESDAY 

TO be thought ill of, worse than we deserve, 
To have hard speeches said, cold looks 
displayed 
By those who should have cheered us when we 

swerve, — 
Is one of Heaven's best lots, and may be made 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 253 

A treasure ere we know it, a lone field 
Which to hot hearts may bitter blessings yield. 
Either we learn from our past sins to shrink, 
When their full guilt is kept before our eye, 
And, thinking of ourselves as others think, 
We so are gainers in humility : — 
Or the harsh judgments are a gloomy screen. 
Fencing pur altered lives from praise and glare ; 
And plants that grew in shades retain their green. 
While unmeet sternness kindly chills the air. 

Frederick William Faber 



WEDNESDAY 



M 



Y heart was glad to hear their call. 

Who said, " To God's own house we go,"- 
Thy gate and glorious wall 
Our due feet early know ; 



Jerusalem ! 'tis there we stand ; 
Jerusalem ! for ever sure, 

Built by th' unswerving Hand 

In union to endure ; 

Fair city, in herself at rest ! 

The tribes are there, the tribes of God 

To her their way address'd, 

And climb the holy road, 

(A law for Israel through all time ;) 

There praising God's high Name, they met ; 

Full many a throne sublime 

For judgment there is set. 

Full many a throne for David's seed : — 

Come frame your prayer, come breathe your spell, 



254 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG 

For Salem in her need ! 
Thy lovers, fare they well ! 

Peace in thy forts her refuge make, 
And plenty in thy bowers increase ! 

For friends and brethren's sake 

I bid thee joy and peace ; 

For friends and hearts that are as mine. 
Fain would I speak thee peace entire ; 

For God's own glorious shrine 

Thy blessing I desire. 

John Keble 

THURSDAY 

HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of 
Fate, 
All but the page prescribed, their present state : 
From brutes what men, from men what spirits 

know: 
Or who could suffer being here below ? 
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food. 
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. 
Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given, 
That each may fill the circle, marked by Heaven : 
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
A hero perish or a sparrow fall. 
Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, 
And now a bubble burst and now a world. 

Hope humbly, then ; with trembling pinions soar; 
Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. 
What future bliss. He gives not thee to know, 
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 



FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 255 

Hope springs eternal in the human breast : 
Man never is, but always to be blest : 
The soul, uneasy and confined from home, 
Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 

Alexander Pope 



FRIDAY 

' 'T^IS first the true and then the beautiful, 
J- Not first the beautiful and then the true ; 

First the wild moor, with rock and reed and pool, 
Then the gay garden, rich in scent and hue. 

'Tis first the good and then the beautiful, — 
Not first the beautiful and then the good ; 

First the rough seed, sown in the rougher soil. 
Then the flower-blossom, or the branching wood. 

Not first the glad and then the sorrowful, — 
But first the sorrowful, and then the glad ; 

Tears for a day, — for earth of tears is full. 
Then we forget that we were ever sad. 

Not first the bright, and after that the dark, — 
But first the dark, and after that the bright ; 

First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc, 
First the dark grave, then resurrection-light. 

'Tis first the night, — stern night of storm and 
war, — 

Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies ; 
Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star, 

That bids the saints awake and dawn arise. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



256 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

IN thorny thickets blow the sweetest roses ; 
Lilies in damp woods droop their snow-white 
bells j 
The yellow primrose 'neath the brier reposes ; 
The purest water springs from deepest wells. 

From common clay are form'd the fairest vessels ; 

The diamond glitters in the darksome mine ; 
The golden wTen, in her snug dwelling nestles, 

Slung from the branches of the gloomy pine. 

The scarlet seaweeds wave their trembling tresses 
In the deep ocean-caves by man unseen ; 

And rocks, all black and bleak, the sea-fern dresses 
With spiny tufts of glistening evergreen. 

And so from out the gloom and smoke of cities 
Deeds of deep love and meek endurance shine ; 

In squalid lanes is found the heart that pities, 
The soul that hungers after things Divine. 

In foetid courts the steadfast love of woman 

Makes oftentimes the house of toil seem bright ; 

And princely hearts, which beat 'neath garments 
common, 
In midst of wrong are ruled by truth and right. 

Not men of high degree alone in story. 

In human hearts and histories, are enshrined ; 
The poor and humble have their meed of glory ; 
Some wreaths of laurel poor men's foreheads 
bind. 

Greville J. Chester 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 257 



THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

ALL things a prophecy contain 
Of something higher still ; 
A close relation all sustain, 
A place and purpose fill. 

The mineral, the moss, the flower, 
The life with instinct fraught, 

All indicate a growing power 
That trembles into thought. 

Feeling and thought expression gain 
And grow to perfect speech ; 

Philosophy and science reign 
And still we higher reach. 

Our life on earth is incomplete ; 

For larger life we plead ; 
Who made the heart, aspiring, beat 

Will answer to its need. 



Beyond the bound of time and space 

A fairer world we see ; 
Within the soul of man we trace 

The sign and prophecy. 

We trust the Lord in faith serene, 

A ladder He hath given ; 
The lower rounds on earth are seen. 

The higher reach to Heaven. 

Thomas Brevior 



258 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

IF thou hast lost a friend 
By hard or hasty word, 
Go call him to thy heart again ; 

Let pride no more be heard. 
Remind him of those happy days, 

Too beautiful to last ; 
Ask, if a word should cancel years 

Of truth and friendship past. 
Oh ! if thou'st lost a friend 

By hard or hasty word. 
Go call him to thy heart again ; 

Let pride no more be heard. 

Oh ! tell him, from thy thought 

The light of joy hath fled ; 
That, in thy sad and silent breast. 

Thy lonely heart seems dead : 
That mount and vale, each path ye trod 

By morn or evening dim. 
Reproach you with their frowning gaze. 

And ask your soul for him. 
Then, if thou'st lost a friend 

By hard or hasty word. 
Go call him to thy heart again ; 

Let pride no more be heard. 

Charles Swain 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 259 



TUESDAY 

LET me count my treasures 
All my soul holds dear, 
Given me by dark spirits 
Whom I used to fear. 

Through long days of anguish, 

And sad nights, did Pain 
Forge my shield. Endurance, 

Bright and free from stain ! 

Doubt, in misty caverns, 

'Mid dark horrors sought, 
Till my peerless jewel. 

Faith to me she brought. 

Sorrow, that I wearied 

Should remain so long, 
Wreathed my starry glory. 

The bright Crown of Song. 

Strife, that racked my spirit 

Without hope or rest. 
Left the blooming flower. 

Patience, on my breast. 

Suffering, that I dreaded, 

Ignorant of her charms. 
Laid the fair child, Pity, 

Smiling, in my arms. 

So I count my treasures. 
Stored in days long past — 

And I thank the givers. 
Whom I know at last ! 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



26o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



WEDNESDAY 

FOND heart, when learnest thou to say, 
I love not pomps that fade away 
Nor glories that decay and wane. 
Nor lights that rise to set again ? 
When wilt thou turn where Abraham turned, 
And learn the lesson Abraham learned ? 
Beyond the river while he dwelt, 
He with his kin to idols knelt, 
And nightly gazing on the sky. 
Worshipped the starry host on high. 
But when he saw their splendours fail. 
And that bright multitude grow pale, 
He left them and adored the moon ; 
But she too wanly waned soon. 
Baffled, he knelt unto the sun ; 
But when his race of light was done, 
He cried " To such no vows I bring — 
I worship not the perishing ! " 
And turned him to the God Whose hand 
Made sun, and moon, and starry band — 
An everlasting Light, in Whom 
Decrease and shadow find no room. 

Richard Chenevix Trench 



THURSDAY 

WHERE then shall hope and fear their objects 
find? 
Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind ? 
Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, 
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? 
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise. 
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? 



SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 261 

Inquirer cease ! petitions yet remain 

Which Heaven may hear, nor deem reHgion 

vain. 
Still raise, for good, the supplicating voice, 
But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice ; 
Safe in His power, Whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer. 
Implore His aid ; in His decisions rest 
Secure : whate'er He gives, He gives the best ; 
Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires. 
And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 
Pour forth thy fervours for a peaceful mind. 
Obedient passions and a will resign'd ; 
For love, which scarce collective man can fill ; 
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; 
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, 
Counts death kind nature's signal for retreat ; — 
These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain ; 
These goods He grants, Who grants the means to 

gain; 
With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, 
And makes the happiness she does not find. 

Samuel Johnson 



FRIDAY 

T WALK as one who knows that he is treading 
-*• A stranger-soil ; 

As one round whom a serpent-world is spreading 

Its subtle coil. 

I walk as one but yesterday deliver'd 
From a sharp chain ; 

Who trembles lest the bond so newly sever'd 
Be bound again. 



262 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I walk as one who feels that he is breathing 

Ungenial air ; 
For whom as wiles, the tempter still is wreathing 

The bright and fair. 

My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger, 

For sin is near ; 
But looking up, I pass along, a stranger, 

In haste and fear. 

This earth has lost its power to drag me downward ; 

Its spell is gone ; 
My course is now right upward, and right onward. 

To yonder Throne. 

Hour after hour of time's dark night is stealing 

In gloom away ; 
Speed Thy fair dawn of light and joy and healing, 

Thou Star of day ! 

For thee its God, its King, the long-rejected. 
Earth groans and cries ; 

For Thee the long beloved, the long expected, 
Thy bride still sighs ! 

HORATIUS BONAR 



SATURDAY 

THIS is true glory and renown, when God, 
Looking on the earth, with approbation marks 
The just man, and divulges him through Heaven 
To all His Angels, who with true applause 
Recount his praises : thus He did to Job, 
Who famous was in Heaven, on earth less known ; 
Where glory is false glory, attributed 
To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. 



SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 263 

They err who count it glorious to subdue 
By conquest far and wide, to over-run 
Large countries, and in field great battles win, 
Great cities by assault : what do these worthies, 
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave 
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote, 
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove, 
And all the flourishing arts of peace destroy. 
But if there be in glory aught of good. 
It may by means far different be attain'd, 
Without ambition, war, or violence ; 
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, 
By patience, temperance. 

John Milton 



THE SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

SEE the rivers flowing 
Downwards to the sea, 
Pouring all their treasures 

Bountiful and free — 
Yet to help their giving 
Hidden springs arise ; 
Or, if need be, showers 
Feed them from the skies. 

Watch the princely flowers 
Their rich fragrance spread, 

Load the air with perfumes 
From their beauty shed — 



264 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Yet their lavish spending 
Leaves them not in dearth, 

With fresh Hfe replenished 
By their mother earth. 

Give thy heart's best treasures — 

From fair Nature learn ; 
Give thy love — and, ask not, 

Wait not a return ! 
And the more thou spendest 

From thy little store, 
With a double bounty, 

God will give thee more. 

Adelaide Anne Procter 



WEEK OF THE SEVENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THOUSANDS completely fed 
With a few loaves of bread 
Such as would barely form one household's fare, 
And, when the feast was o'er. 
The fragments were a store 
Enough for needy hundreds still to share. 

What was the Power that wrought 

This wonder passing thought? 
What but that Word Divine, which called of yore 

Systems and suns to grace 

The mighty realms of space. 
And then with life and beauty spread them o'er ? 



SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 265 

God only can create ; 
None less could arrogate 
The power to sway all Nature with a nod : 
O Christ ! be Thou adored, — 
For that creative word 
Which blessed the bread was God's, — and Thou 
art God ! 

Joseph H. Clinch 



TUESDAY 

LIFE, believe, is not a dream 
So dark as sages say ; 
Oft a little morning rain 

Foretells a pleasant day. 
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, 

But these are transient all ; 
If the shower will make the roses bloom 
O why lament its fall ? 

Rapidly, merrily, 
Life's sunny hours flit by, 

Gratefully, cheerily, 
Enjoy them as they fly ! 

What though Death at times steps in, 

And calls our Best away ? 
What though Sorrow seems to win, 

O'er Hope, a heavy sway ? 
Yet Hope again elastic springs, 

Unconquered, though she fell; 
Still buoyant are her golden wings, 

Still strong to bear us well. 
Manfully, fearlessly. 

The day of trial bear, 



266 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

For gloriously, victoriously, 
Can courage quell despair ! 

Charlotte Bronte 



WEDNESDAY 

O NATURE ! all thy seasons please the eye 
Of him who sees a Deity in all. 
It is His Presence that diffuses charms 
Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream. 
To think that He, Who hears the heavenly 

choirs, 
Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; — 
To think that He, Who rolls yon solar sphere, 
Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; 
To mark His Presence in the mighty bow 
That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute 
Of tiniest flower, to hear His awful Voice 
In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale ; 
To know, and feel His care for all that lives ; — 
'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear 
A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. 
Yes ! place me 'mid far-stretching woodless 

wilds. 
Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell 

there. 
Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! 
There would my gratefully uplifted eye 
Survey the heavenly vault by day, — by night, 
When glows the firmament from pole to pole ; 
There would my overflowing heart exclaim, 
"The heavens declare the glory of the Lord, 
The firmament shows forth His handiwork ! " 

James Grahame 



SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 267 



THURSDAY 

I WALKED the fields at morning's prime, 
The grass was ripe for mowing ; 
The skylark sang his matin chime, 
And all was brightly glowing. 

" And thus," I cried, " the ardent boy, 

His pulse with rapture beating. 
Deems life's inheritance is joy — 

The future proudly greeting." 

I wandered forth at noon : — Alas ! 

On earth's maternal bosom 
The scythe had left the withering grass, 

And stretched the fading blossom. 

And thus, I thought with many a sigh, 

The hopes we fondly cherish. 
Like flowers which blossom but to die. 

Seem only born to perish. , 

Once more, at eve, abroad I strayed. 
Through lonely hay-fields musing, 

While every breeze that round me played, 
Rich fragrance was diffusing. 

The perfumed air, the hush of eve. 

To purer hopes appealing, 
O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve. 

Scattered the balm of healing. 

For thus " the actions of the just," 
When memory hath enshrined them, 



268 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

E'en from the dark and silent dust 
' Their odour leave behind them. 

Bernard Barton 



FRIDAY 

WE cannot stay, said the winter stars ; 
We shall set to-night, to-morrow to rise 
Upon other worlds and other eyes : 

Gaze fondly and well on our glorious light, 
For our silver lamps must go out to-night : 

We cannot stay. 

We are hurrying on from our mother hills, 
Said the little springs ; we shall soon be gone : 
Drink a long draught as we hurry on ; 

With the falling eve we shall join the river, 
To-morrow be lost in the sea for ever : 

We cannot stay. 

We cannot stay, said my petted flowers ; 
Gay tendrils next year shall cover your door, 
But we shall have fled to bloom no more : 
Go, gather some leaves to keep for our sake, 
For next year there shall be no leaves to take : 

We cannot stay. 

I follow those stars, said a dying child ; 
And all my hopes, said I, follow those waves, 
And they sleep like those flowers in perfumed 
graves ; 
And I heard them sing as I saw them flee, 
There's a brighter world for us, and for thee : 

We cannot stay. 



SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 269 

Changing friends of a changing world, 

Keep heart ! — we may love what we have loved 

best 
In a changeless world, where all are blest ; 
Where only the sorrows that make us mourn, 
And only our sighs shall sigh in their turn : 

We cannot stay. 
John Emmet 



SATURDAY 

VIEW not forms with heedless scorn ; 
These are but the seemly dress, 
Holy feast-time to express, 
And the bride of Christ adorn. 

Forms are fetters, wrong entwined j 
But, to those who rightly wear, 
Girdle that sustaineth prayer, 

Due compression to the mind. 

Forms are helps to infant speech. 

Aiding it to go alone ; 

Strength at times to minds full-grown, 
When too weak their aim to reach. 

Forms are rules, by which to tame 

Zeal into decorous mood ; 

Bonds of ancient brotherhood, 
Binding those who said the same. 

Forms supply the humble tale. 

Easy to repentant sin ; 

Faith, when near the crown to win. 
Words obtains, when others fail. 



270 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Forms afford the means to hush, 

Through devotion, others' care ; 
Yielding him a ready prayer, 

Who himself to pray would blush. 

Who may e'er 'gainst forms inveigh, 

As unmeet or insincere, 

When he thinks, how Christ, when here, 
Taught us, by a form, to pray ? 

Lord Kinloch 



THE EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

LOVE hath taught me to obey 
All His precepts, and to say, 
" Not to-morrow, but to-day." 

What He wills, I say, " I must " ; 
What I must, I say, " I will"; 
He commanding, it is just, 
What He would, I should fulfil ; 
Whilst He biddeth, I believe ; 
What He calls for, He will give ; 
To obey Him is — to live. 

His commandments grievous are not 
Longer than men think them so ; 
Though He send me forth, I care not, 
Whilst He gives me strength to goe. 
When or whither, all is one ; 
On His bus'nesse, not mine owne 
I shall never goe alone. 



EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 271 

If I be compleat in Him, — 

And in Him all fulnesse dwelleth, — 

I am sure aloft to swim 

Whilst that ocean overswelleth ; 

Having Him that is All in All, 

I am confident I shall 

Nothing want for which I call. 

Christopher Harvey 



WEEK OF THE EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

TEACH me, my God and King, 
In all things Thee to see. 
And what I do in anything. 
To do it as for Thee : 

Not rudely, as a beast 

To runne into an action ; 
But still to make Thee prepossest, 

And give it his perfection. 

A man that looks on glasse 

On it may stay his eye ; 
Or if he pleaseth, thro' it passe 

And then the heav'n espie. 

All may of Thee partake ; 

Nothing can be so mean, 
Which with his tincture (for Thy sake) 

Will not grow bright and clean. 



2 72 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

A servant with this clause 

Makes drudgerie divine : 
Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws^ 

Makes that and th' action fine. 

This is the famous stone 

That turneth all to gold : 
For that which God doth touch and own 

Cannot for lesse be told. 

George Herbert 



TUESDAY 

IF Solomon for wisdom prayed, 
The Lord before had made him wise ; 
Else he another choice had made 

And asked for what the worldlings prize. 

Thus He invites His people still ; 

He first instructs them how to choose, 
Then bids them ask whate'er they will, 

Assured that He will not refuse. 

Our wishes would our ruin prove, 

Could we our wretched choice obtain. 

Before we feel the Saviour's love 
Kindle our love to Him again. 

But when our hearts perceive His worth, 
Desires, till then unknown, take place ; 
Our spirits cleave no more to earth. 
But pant for holiness and grace. 

And dost Thou say, " Ask what thou wilt" ? 

Lord, I would seize the golden hour, — 
I pray to be released from guilt. 

And freed from sin and Satan's power. 



EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 273 

More of Thy presence, Lord, impart ; 

More of Thy image let me bear ; 
Erect Thy throne within my heart 

And reign without a rival there. 

John Newton 



WEDNESDAY 

IN silence mighty things are wrought — 
Silently builded, thought on thought. 
Truth's temple greets the sky ; 
And like a citadel with towers. 
The soul with her subservient powers 
Is strengthened silently. 



Soundless as chariots on the snow 
The saplings of the forest grow 

To trees of mighty girth ; 
Each nightly star in silence burns. 
And every day in silence turns 

The axle of the earth. 



The silent frost with mighty hand 
Fetters the rivers and the land 

With universal chain ; 
And, smitten by the silent sun, 
The chain is loosed, the rivers run. 

The lands are free again. 

O Source unseen of hfe and light. 
Thy secrecy of silent might 
If we in bondage know. 



2 74 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Our hearts, like seeds beneath the ground, 
By silent force of life unbound, 
Move upward from below. 

- Thomas Toke Lynch 



THURSDAY 

THIS did not once so trouble me, 
That better I could not love Thee, 
But now I feel and know 
That only when we love, we find 
How far our hearts remain behind 
The love they should bestow. 

While we had little care to call 

On Thee, and scarcely prayed at all, 

We seemed enough to pray : 
But now we only think with shame. 
How seldom to Thy glorious Name 

Our lips their offerings pay. 

And when we gave yet slighter heed 
Unto our brother's suffering need, 

Our hearts reproached us then 
Not half so much as now, that we 
With such a careless eye can see 

The woes and wants of men. 

In doing is this knowledge won, 
To see what yet remains undone ; 

With this our pride repress, 
And give us grace, a growing store. 
That day by day we may do more. 
And may esteem it less. 

Richard Chenevix Trench 



EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 275 



FRIDAY 

I WOULD not ask Thee that my days 
Should flow quite smoothly on and on : 
Lest I should learn to love the world 
Too well, ere all my time was done. 

I would not ask Thee that my work 
Should never bring me pain nor fear ; 

Lest I should learn to work alone, 
And never wish Thy presence near. 

I would not ask Thee that my friends 
Should always kind and constant be : 

Lest I should learn to lay my faith, 
In them alone and not in Thee. 

But I would ask Thee still to give, 
By night my sleep — by day my bread. 

And that the counsel of Thy Word, 

Should shine and show the path to tread. 

And I would ask a humble heart, 
A changeless will to work and wake, 

A firm faith in Thy Providence, 

The rest — 'tis Thine to give or take. 

Alfred Norris 



SATURDAY 

STILL evermore for some great strength we 
pray. 
Seeking and yearning for it day by day ; 
A strength whereon undoubting we may lean. 
And find that rest we have but dimly seen. 

To lean our heart upon another heart. 

In love that neither life nor death can part ; 



276 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

So seek we still to end our life4ong quest, 
For only in true love we find true rest. 

That love which makes another's life our own, 
And tunes our jarring natures to one tone ; 
The filling up of all we've sought so long ; 
For leaning on itself no strength is strong. 

No love is perfect here, it leads us on 
To love's great source — the Uncreated One ; 
Most true is that through which we learn to see 
Most of Thy strength, and most, O Lord, of Thee. 

Which sees, in all its happiness and bliss, 
The promise of a joy more great than this ; 
Which seeks its perfectness for evermore. 
In the love-light that gilds the happy shore. 

O strength, O love and rest, the light that steals 
From the pure sunshine of those golden fields ! 
Faint rays we catch e'en now upon our way, 
Lighting our footsteps to the land of day. 

Thou art the light, the sunshine is from Thee j 
And in Thy heart is strength and purity ; 
There lean our weary hearts, there ends our quest, 
For there is perfect love and perfect rest. 

L. R. 



THE NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 



W 



E seek a land of more delight 

Than aught that promised Canaan gave ; 
We have escaped from sin's dark grave. 
Have passed the pure Baptismal wave ; 
Christ leads us on by day and night. 
The Bread, that feeds our weariness, 



NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 277 

The Rock, that, in the wilderness, 
Still gushes pure and free to bless 
Our souls with spiritual might. 

We must not be like Israel's band, 

Who tempted God by deed and thought, 
Who scorned the Law His Prophet taught, 
Who loathed the precious food he brought, 

And wished again for Egypt's land ; 
His Holy Faith they would not hold, 
But loved the tales the Heathen told, 
And made them idol Gods of gold. 

Provoking His Almighty hand. 

These things are our examples, given. 
That we, who walk in brighter day, 
May hold our Faith more pure than they ; 
Nor in this bad world go astray 

To sin, by evil passions driven ; 

Till He, Whom type and lay foretold 
In mystic signs and songs of old. 
Shall lead us o'er life's dreary wold, 

Safe to our happy home in Heaven. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEEK OF THE NINTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THE child leans on its parent's breast, 
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest ; 
The bird sits singing by its nest, 

And tells aloud 
His trust in God, and so is blest 

'Neath eveiy cloud. 



2 78 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

He has no store, he sows no seed ; 
Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed ; 
By flowing stream or grassy mead, 

He sings to shame 
Men, who forget, in fear of need, 

A Father's name. 

The heart that trusts for ever sings, 
And feels as light as it had wings ; 
A well of peace within it springs : 

Come good, or ill, 
Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings, 

It is His will. 
Isaac Williams 



TUESDAY 

HOW happy is he born and taught, 
That serveth not another's will ; 
Whose armour is his honest thought, 
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

Whose passions not his masters are, 
Whose soul is still prepared for death. 
Not tied unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath. 

Who envies none whom chance doth raise, 
Or vice ; who never understood 
How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 

Who hath his life from rumours freed. 
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 



NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 279 

Who God doth late and early pray, 
More of His grace than gifts to lend j 
And entertains the harmless day 
With a religious book, or friend ; 

This man is freed from servile bands 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
And, having nothing, yet hath all. 

Sir Henry Wotton 



WEDNESDAY 

WHY throbs this breast ? Why heave these 
piteous sighs ? 
Say, doubting heart, why do such fears arise ? 
Hast thou forgotten One, Whose loving power 
Is strong to save in sorrow's saddest hour ? 

Oh ! when cast down, remember days gone by, 
When earthly comforts failed, but He was nigh ! 
Remember how He stayed thy falling tears. 
Subdued the storm, and drove away thy fears. 

And now again. He says to thee, " Be still, 
For I am God — thy God — and ever will ; 
Though dark to thee, yet all My ways are just, 
And, where thou seest not, believe and trust. 

" A little while, and all these clouds shall pass ; 
Then thou no more shalt see through earth's dark 

glass. 
But face to face ; hereafter thou shalt know 
That out of love I sent thee that brief woe." 



28o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Then, Lord, whatever seemeth good to Thee — 
Bitter or sweet — let it be done to me ; 
And should'st Thou bid each earthly stay be gone, 
Oh ! give me grace to say, " Thy Will be done." 

C. H. I. 

THURSDAY 

LONG have I view'd, long have I thought, 
And held with trembling hand this 
bitter draught : 
'Twas now just to my lips applied ; 
Nature shrank in, and all my courage died. 

But now resolved and firm I'll be. 
Since, Lord, 'tis mingled, and reach'd out by Thee. 

Since 'tis Thy sentence I should part 
With the most precious treasure of my heart, 

I freely that and more resign ; 
My heart itself, as its delight, is Thine ; 

My little all I give to Thee— 
Thou gav'st a greater gift, Thy Son, to me. 

He left true bliss and joys above. 
Himself He emptied of all good, but love ; 

For me He freely did forsake 
More good than He from me can ever take. 

A mortal life for a divine 
He took, and did at last even that resign. 

Take all, great God, I will not grieve, 
But still will wish that I had still to give. 

I hear Thy voice ; Thou bid'st me quit 
My paradise, I bless and do submit. 

I will not murmur at Thy word, 
Nor beg Thy Angel to sheath up his sword. 

John Norris 



NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 28] 



FRIDAY 

To pray to God continually ; 
To learn to know Him rightfully ; 
To honour God in Trinity ; 
The Trinity in Unity ; 
The Father in His majesty ; 
The Son in His humanity ; 
The Holy Ghost's benignity ; 
Three persons one in a Deity ; 
To serve Him alway holily ; 
To ask Him all thing needfully ; 
To praise Him alway worthily ; 
To love Him alway stedfastly ; 
To dread Him alway fearfully ; 
To ask Him mercy heartily ; 
To trust Him alway faithfully ; 
To obey Him alway willingly ; 
To abide Him alway patiently ; 
To thank Him alway thankfully ; 
To live here alway virtuously ; 
To use thy neighbour honestly ; 
To look for death still presently ; 
To help the poor in misery ; 
To hope for heaven's felicity ; 
To have faith, hope, and charity ; 
To count this life but vanity ; — 
Be points of Christianity. 

Thomas Tusser 



SATURDAY 

(c Q^'PAY, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill ; 

O A little longer, let us linger still ; 
With these two mighty ones of old beside, 
Near to the Awful Presence still abide ; 



282 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Before the throne of light we trembling stand, 
And catch a glimpse into the spirit-land. 

" Stay, Master, stay ! we breathe a purer air. 
I'his life is not the life that waits us there : 
Thoughts, feelings, flashes, gHmpses come and go 
We cannot speak them — nay we do not know ; 
Wrapt in this cloud of light we seem to be 
The thing we fain would grow eternally." 

" No ! " saith the Lord, " the hour is past, we go ; 
Our home, our life, our duties lie below. 
While here we kneel upon the mount of prayer, 
The plough lies waiting in the furrow there : 
Here we sought God that we might know His will : 
There we must do it, — serve Him, — seek Him 
still." 

If man aspires to reach the throne of God, 
O'er the dull plains of earth must lie the road. 
He who best does his lowly duty here, 
Shall mount the highest in a nobler sphere : 
At God's own feet our spirits seek their rest, 
And he is nearest Him who serves Him best. 

Samuel Greg 



THE TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

OONLY source of all our light and life, 
Whom as our truth, our strength, we see 
and feel. 
But Whom the hours of mortal moral strife 
Alone aright reveal ! 



TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 283 

Mine inmost soul, before Thee inly brought, 
Thy presence owns ineffable, divine ; 

Chastised each rebel self-encentred thought, 
My will adoreth Thine. 

With eye down-dropt, if then this earthly mind 
Speechless remain, or speechless e'en depart, 

Nor seek to see — for what of earthly kind 
Can see Thee as Thou art ? — 

If well assured 'tis but profanely bold 

In thought's abstractest forms to seem to see, 

It dare not dare the dread communion hold 
In ways unworthy Thee. 

O not unowned, Thou shalt unnamed forgive. 
In worldly walks the prayerless heart prepare ; 

And if in work its life it seem to live, 
Shalt make that work be prayer. 

Nor times shall lack, when while the work it 
flies, 
Unsummoned powers the blinding film shall 
part. 
And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyes 
In recognition start. 

But, as Thou wiliest, give, or e'en forbear, 

The beatific supersensual sight, 
So with Thy blessing blest, that humbler prayer 

Approach Thee morn and night. 

Arthur Hugh Clough 



284 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE TENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

MONDAY 

IS thy cruse of comfort wasting ? haste its scanty 
drops to share, 
And through all the years of famine thou shalt 
still have drops to spare. 

Love divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy handful 

still renew, 
Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast 

for two. 

For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth 

is living grain ; 
Seeds which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill 

with gold the plain. 

Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps 

drag wearily ? 
Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear 

both it and thee. 

Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou 

sleep amidst the snow? 
Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together 

both shall glow. 

Art thou stricken in life's battle? many wounded 

round thee moan ; 
Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that 

balm shall heal thine own. 



TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 285 

Is the heart a well left empty ? none but God its 

void can fill ; 
Nothing but a ceaseless fountain can its ceaseless 

longings still. 

Is the heart a living power? self-entwined, its 

strength sinks low ; 
It can only live in loving; and, by serving, love 

will grow. 

Elizabeth Rundle Charles 



TUESDAY 

SHOW me the tears, the tears of tender love, 
Wept over Salem in her evil day ; 
When grace and righteousness together strove, 
And grace at length to righteousness gave way. 

Dread hour of conflict between law and love ! — 
When not from tears couldst Thou, O Christ, 
refrain ; 

When grace went forth to save, but like the dove, 
Returned disconsolate, its errand vain. 

Theirs the great woe, yet Thine, O Lord, the deep 
And awful anguish for their coming fears ; 

Thou weepedst because they refused to weep. 
And grief Divine found vent in human tears. 

They closed the ear against Thy tender words ; 
They chose another lord, and spurned Thy 
sway ; 
Thou wouldst have drawn them, but they snapped 
Thy cords ; 
Thou wouldst have blest them, but they turned 
away. 



286 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou lovedst them, but they would not be loved, 
And human hatred fought with Love Divine ; 

They saw Thee shed the tears of love unmoved, 
And mocked the grace that would have made 
them Thine. 

O Son of God, Who earnest from above 
To take my flesh, to bear my bitter cross ; 

Show me Thy tears, Thy tears of tender love, 
That I for Thee may count all gain but loss. 

That I may know Thee, and by Thee be known ; 

That I may love Thee, and may taste Thy love ; 
That I may win Thee, and in Thee a crown ; 

That I may rest and reign with Thee above. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



WEDNESDAY 

THERE is a dwelling-place above ; 
Thither to meet the God of love, 
The poor in spirit go ; 
There is a paradise of rest ; 
For contrite hearts and souls distrest 
Its streams of comfort flow. 

There is a goodly heritage. 

Where earthly passions cease to rage ; 

The meek that haven gain : 
There is a board, where they who pine. 
Hungry, athirst, for grace divine. 

May feast, nor crave again. 

There is a voice to mercy true ; 
To them who mercy's path pursue 

That voice shall bliss impart ; 



TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 287 

There is a sight from man concealed ; 
That sight, the face of God revealed, 
Shall bless the pure in heart. 

There is a name, in Heaven bestow'd ; 
That name, which hails them sons of God, 

The friends of peace shall know : 
There is a Kingdom in the sky. 
Where they shall reign with God on high, 

Who serve Him best below. 

Lord ! be it mine like them to choose 
The better part, like them to use 

The means Thy love hath given ! 
Be holiness my aim on earth. 
That death be welcomed as a birth 

To life and bliss in Heaven ! 

Richard Mant 



THURSDAY 

PRAYER is omnipotence descending, when 
We pray through Him Who died upon the 
Tree, 
Pray through His merits and His agony ; 
The prayer of them who pray as dying men, 
Who pray as they who ne'er can pray again, — 
Such power is mighty to bring down the sky 
With all that bright and glorious company ; 
Which made thus sensible to mortal ken, 
Are but the spiritual deeds that go before, 
Or follow after to the Judgment door. 
Prayer hath the power to draw them from their 

sphere. 
And bring them unto us in spirit near. 



288 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh, if those bright ones come on earth to dwell, 
It is the golden age which poets tell ! 
It is in prayer, as at celestial springs, 
Those Virtues live, and breathe ethereal air : 
Prayer brings on all around Angelic care ; — 
Prayer o'er each scene Love's radiant halo flings ; — 
Prayer spreads o'er all we love protecting wings, 
Makes all events a cloud-surmounting stair : — 
Prayer, eye-enlightening, soul-transforming prayer, 
Hallows the Church, o'er parents spreads, and 

kings. 
Bears and is borne to Heaven. When monarchs 

call 
On God they build a more than earthly wall ; 
The mother's prayer, in the calm midnight hour. 
Brings on her child the moonlight's silver shower ; 
And, at the Altar kneeling, Christ's own poor 
For worldly gifts Heaven's Kingdom have in store. 

Isaac Williams 



FRIDAY 

OTHOU, the contrite sinner's Friend, 
Who loving, lov'st them to the end. 
On this alone my hopes depend. 
That Thou wilt plead for me ! 

When, weary in the Christian race, 
Far-off appears my resting-place. 
And fainting I mistrust Thy grace, 
Then, Saviour, plead for me ! 

When I have err'd and gone astray 
Afar from Thine and Wisdom's way, 
And see no glimmering guiding ray, 
Still, Saviour, plead for me ! 



TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 289 

When Satan, by my sins made bold, 
Strives from Thy Cross to loose my hold, 
Then with Thy pitying arms enfold, 
And plead, O plead for me ! 

And when my dying hour draws near, 
Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear. 
Then to my fainting sight appear, 
Pleading in Heaven for me ! 

When the full light of heavenly day 
Reveals my sins in dread array. 
Say Thou hast wash'd them all away ; 
O say, Thou plead'st for me ! 

Charlotte Elliott 



SATURDAY 

SOWER Divine ! 
Sow the good seed in me, 
Seed for eternity. 
'Tis a rough barren soil, 
Yet by Thy care and toil. 
Make it a fruitful field 
An hundredfold to yield. 
Sower Divine, 
Plough up this heart of mine ! 

Sower Divine ! 

Quit not this wretched field 
Till Thou hast made it yield. 
Sow Thou by day and night. 
In darkness and in light. 
Stay not Thy hand, but sow ; 
Then shall the harvest grow. 

Sower Divine, 

Sow deep this heart of mine ! 



290 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Sower Divine ! 

Let not this barren clay 
Lead Thee to turn away ; 
Let not my fruitlessness 
Provoke Thee not to bless ; 
Let not this field be dry, 
Refresh it from on high. 

Sower Divine, 

Water this heart of mine ! 

HORATIUS BONAR 



THE ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

TO Thy temple, Lord, or table, 
Ne'er by me be access sought, 
Save, as much as I am able. 

In the temper Christ hath taught. 

Though in aspect all agree. 
Each alike a Christian man, 

Here there stands a Pharisee, 
There an humble Publican. 

Lord, I'd shun the former's part, 
Fair though seen in outward view ; 

Keep the other's lowly heart ; 
Still, like him, for mercy sue. 

Nought of pride I'd mix with praise ; 

Nought for boast in grace would see ; 
Ever this the prayer I raise, 

" God be merciful to me ' 



ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 291 

All my proper sins and faults 

Bending downwards I would own ; 

Ne'er a thought which self exalts 
Nurse, by charge on others thrown. 

Some a glance around me scans, 
Far from God who seem to be ; 

Yet, who names them Publicans, 
Proves himself a Pharisee. 

Nought I'd think, far less would say, 
These by contrast to condemn ; 

Only would I further pray, 
" God be merciful to them." 

Lord Kinloch 



WEEK OF THE ELEVENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

THE Pharisee informed the Lord 
How good a life he led : 
The Publican shrank back in shame, 

And smote his breast instead : 
But when the Lord, in tender love, 

The penitent commended, 
The hypocrite, with heart unchanged. 
Straightway his prayer amended. 

Said he : " The man who says he's worst 
Is by the Lord thought best " ; 

So next when he to worship went, 
As Publican he drest, 



292 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And smote upon his hollow heart, 
And bowed him down and groaned, 

And, proud of his humility. 
His unfelt sins he owned. 

The Publican, an altered man. 

Came, too, with lifted head. 
And joyfully gave thanks to God 

For the new life he led ; 
The Lord again his offering took. 

Still spurned the Pharisee's, 
For sometimes tears, and sometimes thanks. 

But only Truth can please. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



TUESDAY 

GOD never meant that man should scale the 
heavens 
By strides of human wisdom. In His works, 
Though wondrous. He commands us in His Word 
To seek Him rather where His mercy shines. 
The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above. 
Views Him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 
His manner, and with rapture tastes His style. 
And never yet did philosophic tube, 
That brings the planets home into the eye 
Of observation, and discovers, else 
Not visible, His family of worlds. 
Discover Him that rules them ; such a veil 
Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, 
And dark in things divine. Full often too 
Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 
Of nature, overlooks her Author more. 



ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 293 

From instrumental causes proud to draw 
Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 
But if His Word once teach us, shoot a ray 
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, 
Then all is plain. Philosophy baptized 
In the pure fountain of eternal love 
Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees, 
As meant to indicate a God to man, 
Gives Him His praise, and forfeits not her own. 

William Cowper 



WEDNESDAY 

SORE was the famine throughout all the bou 
Of Israel, when Elijah by command 
Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook. 
No raindrop falls, no dew-fraught cloud at morn 
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale ; 
The withering herbage dies ; among the palms, 
The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale 
An autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay 
Is warbled from the branches ; scarce is heard 
The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around, 
And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head 
Upon the flowerless bank ; serene he sleeps, 
Nor wakes till dawning : then with hands enclasp'd 
And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays 
To Him Who manna on the desert shower'd. 
To Him Who from the rock made fountains gush ; 
Entranced the man of God remains ; till roused 
By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart, 
He sees the ravens fearless by his side 
Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food. 

James Grahame 



294 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



THURSDAY 

CHRISTIAN, did no .one, thinkest thou, behold 
thee, 
What time thou faintedst in the noonday heat ? 
Heardst thou no Angel's voice, which sweetly told 
thee, 
" The journey is too great ; arise and eat " ? 

An Angel's voice ? Nay, 'twas thy God that spake it, 
In sweeter tones than Angel could repeat ;"' 

Himself the Food, His own the Hands that brake it, 
His own the words that bade thee " Rise and 
eat; 

"This is the Bread of Life which came from Heaven, 
And now for thee is on My table spread ; 

This is My Body, which for' thee v/as given, 

And this My Blood, which for thy sins was 
shed." 

O fainting, faltering wanderer, art thou able 
Still to refuse thy suppliant God's request ? — 

" Be filled, ye hungry, from My bounteous table ; 
And come, ye weary, I will give you rest." 

Oh, may His gracious, oft-urged invitation 
Subdue thee with its tones so soft and sweet ; 

Mayst thou, at length, with heartfelt adoration, 
And tearful penitence, arise and eat. 

Another banquet is for thee preparing ; 

Another feast thy longing eyes shall greet ; — 
An Angel's voice shall break thy rest, declaring, 

" Behold, all things are ready ; rise and eat ! " 



ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 295 



FRIDAY 

THE voice of God was mighty, when it brake 
Through the deep stillness of chaotic night, 
Uttering the potent words " Let there be light ! " 
And light was kindled as th' Eternal spake ; 
While hosts seraphic hymned the wondrous plan 
Which formed Heaven, earth, sun, sea, and crowned 
the work with man. 



The voice of God was mighty, when it came 
From Sinai's summit, wrapt in midnight gloom ; 
When ceaseless thunders told the sinner's doom, 
And answering lightnings flash'd devouring flame. 
Till prostrate Israel breathed th' imploring cry, 
"Veil, Lord, Thy terrors; cease Thy thunders, or 
we die ! " 

The voice of God was mighty, when alone 
Elijah stood on Horeb, and the blast 
Rent the huge mountains as Jehovah passed. 
And the earth quaked beneath the Holy One : 
When ceased the storm, the blast, the lightning 
glare. 
And, but the " still small voice " was heard, yet 
God was there. 

Y'et not alone in thunder or in storm 
The voice of God was mighty, as it came 
From the lurid mount, or from the car of flame 
When stooped the Godhead to a mortal form, 
When Jesus came to work His Father's will, 
His was the voice of God, and it was mighty still. 

Thomas Dale 



296 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

WHY dost thou heap up wealth which thou 
must quit. 
Or, what is worse, be left by it ? 
Why dost thou load thyself when thou'rt to fly, 
O man ordained to die ? 

Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high, 
Thou who art underground to lie ? 

Thou sowest and plantest, but no fruit must see, 
For death, alas ! is sowing thee. 

Suppose thou fortune couldst to tameness bring. 

And clip or pinion her wing ; 
Suppose thou couldst on fate so far prevail 

As not to cut off thy entail ; 

Yet death at all that subtilty will laugh : 
Death will that foolish gardener mock 

Who does a slight and annual plant engraff. 
Upon a lasting stock. 

Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem ; 

A mighty husband thou wouldst seem ; 
Fond man ! like a bought slave thou all the while 

Dost but for others sweat and toil. 

O scene of fortune, which dost fair appear 
Only to men that stand not near ! 

Proud poverty that tinsel bravery wears, 
And, like a rainbow, painted tears ! 

Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep ; 
In a weak boat trust not the deep : 



TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 297 

Placed beneath envy, above envying rise ; 
Pity great men, great things despise. 

Abraham Cowley 



THE TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

"T^IS not the whirlwind, o'er our fair fields 
A sweeping 

That speaks God's present wrath : 
This is but nature's course, for all men keeping 

One indiscriminate path. 

Nor yet the earthquake, firm foundations shaking 

Of houses long since built : 
This is but fortune's chance, its havoc making. 

Without affixing guilt. 

Nor yet the fire, whate'er is near confounding 

In blind remorseless flame : 
This is but man's fierce ire, which all surrounding 

Treats, good or bad, the same. 

It is the still small voice within which speaketh, 
When guilt's fierce gust is done. 

That tells the doom God's righteous anger 
wreaketh. 
Yet tells, that we may shun. 

O gentle Lord, Who like a friend reprovest, 

Tender not less than true ; 
Thou our hard hearts by whispered warnings 
movest. 

Their erring ways to rue. 



298 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou, Whose pure eye like lightning might 
consume him, 
On man with pity look'st ; 
Thou Who to fire, storm, earthquake, well might'st 
doom him, 
With still small voice rebuk'st. 

Lord Kinloch 



WEEK OF THE TWELFTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY - 

WOMAN of pure and heaven-born fame 
Though Scripture's hallow'd page 
Has made no mention of thy name^ 
Thou liv'st from age to age ! 

Thy labour of unwearied love 

To soothe the prophet's lot, 
Prompted by kindness from above. 

Shall never be forgot. 

The chamber built upon the wall, 

The bed whereon he lay, 
Stool, table, candlestick, and all — ■ 

These things endure for aye. 

If humble was each boon conferred, 

Their giver nameless too. 
The record many a heart hath stirr'd 

Kind acts of love to do. 

And thus in human hearts to dwell, 
A pure undying flame, 



TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 299 

Is a more glorious chronicle, 
Than most that boast a name. 

For ne'er was brighter lustre thrown 

On path by woman trod, 
Than hers, who dwelt among her own — 

And cared for those of God. 

Bernard Barton 



TUESDAY 

LEAD us aside, we would not ever stay 
In pleasure's gilded haunts, but come away 
That we may hear more clear Thy heavenly 
voice ; 
Too often we have sought the world's false glare. 
Too often shunned the soHtude of prayer, 

And thrusting Thee quite out, thought we had 
made a goodly choice. 

Perchance in some tremendous hour 

Thou wilt deprive us both of pride and power, 

And make us on some tearful bed lie down ; 
Still Thou dost lead aside, and pain is sweet 
If we but kiss Thy wounded hands and feet. 

And on our pillow for companion have Thy 
thorny crown. 

Lead us aside, over the holy dead 

It may be that we stand, and idly shed 

Tears which both dim our eyes and shut out 
heaven : 
Give us to see the Resurrection Light, 
And, ere our wavering faith shall quite take flight, 
To pray beside the open grave that strength to 
us be given. 



300 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Like him of old we come, O Lord, to Thee, 
Both deaf and dumb he was, and so are we ; 

Good Master, now put forth Thy heahng Hand ; 
Our ears, O Lord, unstop, our tongues untie. 
And make the powers of ill and darkness fly, 
Before that sigh of love, the Ephphatha of Thy 
command. 

William Chatterton Dix 



WEDNESDAY 

AH ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray, 
My fancy is not free ; 
Unmannerly distractions come, 
And force my thoughts from Thee. 

The world that looks so dull all day. 
Grows bright on me at prayer ; 

And plans that ask no thought but then, 
Wake up and meet me there. 

All nature one full fountain seems 

Of dreamy sight and sound, 
Which, when I kneel, breaks up its deeps. 

And makes a deluge round. 

Old voices murmur in my ear, 

New hopes start into life. 
And past and future gaily blend 

In one bewitching strife. 

Yet Thou art oft most present. Lord, 

In weak, distracted prayer : 
A sinner out of heart with self 

Most often finds Thee there. 



TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 301 

And prayer that humbles, sets the soul 

From all illusions free, 
And teaches it how utterly 

It hangs, dear Lord, on Thee. 

Frederick William Faber 



THURSDAY 

COME, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove, 
My sinful maladies remove ; 
Be Thou my Light, be Thou my Guide, 
O'er every thought and step preside. 

The Light of Truth to me display, 
That I may know and choose my way ; 
Plant holy fear within my heart, 
That I from God may ne'er depart. 

Conduct me safe, conduct me far 
From every sin and hurtful snare ; 
Lead me to God, my final Rest, 
In His employment to be blest. 

Lead me to Christ, the Living Way, 
Nor let me from His pastures stray ; 
Lead me to Heav'n, the seat of bliss. 
Where pleasure in perfection is. 

Lead me to holiness, the road 
That I must take to dwell with God ; 
Lead to Thy Word, that rules must give 
And sure directions how to live. 

Lead me to means of grace, where I 
May own my wants, and seek supply ; 



302 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Lead to Thyself, the Spring from whence 
To fetch all quick'ning influence. 

Thus I, conducted still by Thee, 
Of God a child beloved shall be ; 
Here to His family pertain. 
Hereafter with Him ever reign. 

Simon Browne 



FRIDAY 

MY Maker ! of Thy power the trace 
In every creature's form and face 
The wond'ring soul surveys : 
Thy wisdom, infinite above 
Seraphic thought, a Father's love 
As infinite displays ! 

From all that meets or eye or ear, 
There falls a genial holy fear 
Which, like the heavy dew of morn, 
Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn ! 

Great God ! Thy works are wondrous fair ! 
Yet sinful man didst Thou declare 

The whole Earth's voice and mind ! 
Lord, ev'n as Thou all-present art, 
O may we still with heedful heart 

Thy presence know and find ! 
Then, come what will of weal or woe, 
Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow ; 
For though 'tis Heaven Thyself to see, 
Where but Thy shadoiv falls, grief cannot be ! 

S. T. Coleridge 



TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 303 



SATURDAY 

TRUE honour bides at home, and takes delight 
In keeping, not in gaining, of a right ; 
Scorns usurpation, nor seeks she blood, 
And thirsts to make her name not great, as good : 
God gives a right to man ; to man, defence 
To guard it given ; but when a false pretence 
Shall ground her title on a greater might. 
What doth he else but war with Heav'n, and fight 
With Providence? God sets the princely crown 
On heads of kings ; who then may take it down ? 
No juster quarrel, or more noble fight. 
Than to maintain where God hath given a right : 
There's no despair of conquest in that war. 
Where God's the leader : policy's no bar 
To His designs ; no power can withstand 
His high exploits, within Whose mighty hand 
Are all the corners of the earth ; the hills 
His fensive bulwarks are, which when He wills, 
His lesser breath can bandy up and down. 
And crush the world, and with a wink can drown 
The spacious universe in suds of clay : 
Where Heav'n is leader, Heav'n must win the 

day; 
God reaps His honour hence ; that combat's safe 
Where He's a combatant, and ventures half; 
Right's not impaired with weakness, but prevails 
In spite of strength, when strength and power 

fails : 
Frail is the trust reposed in troops of horse ; 
Truth in a handful finds a greater force. 

Lord, mail my heart with faith, and be my shield, 
And if a world confront me, I'll not yield. 

Francis Quarles 



304 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

THY neighbour? it is he whom thou 
Hast power to aid and bless, 
Whose aching heart or burning brow 
Thy soothing hand may press. 

Thy neighbour ? 'tis the fainting poor, 

Whose eye with want is dim. 
Whom hunger sends from door to door — 

Go thou and succour him. 

Thy neighbour ? 'tis that weary man, 

Whose years are at their brim, 
Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain — 

Go thou and comfort him. 

Thy neighbour ? 'tis the heart bereft 

Of every earthly gem ; 
Widow and orphan, helpless left — 

Go thou and shelter them. 

Thy neighbour ? yonder toiling slave, 

Fettered in thought and limb. 
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave — 

Go thou and ransom him. 

Whene'er thou meet'st a human lot 

Less favoured than thine own. 
Ne'er be this truth by thee forgot, 

Thou dost not live alone. 

Oh, pass not, pass not heedlessly ; 

Perhaps thou canst redeem 
The breaking heart from misery ; 

Go, share thy lot with him. 



XIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 305 

WEEK OF THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

SWORDS of fire around us play, 
Shafts of flame around us fly ; 
Though no lightnings glare the day, 
Though no meteor cross the sky. 

In the sunniest summer noon, 
There is war amidst the calm ; 
In the loveliest beaming moon, 
Adverse spirits working harm. 

Yet the intellectual strife, 
Fierce and mighty as it glows. 
Wakes no earthly sound to life. 
Nor moves the tresses of the rose. 

Fallen man to slay, in soul, 
Is the prize for which they fight ; 
Counter warriors onward roll. 
Demons dark and Angels bright. 

The swift artillery of Heaven 
Passes round us every hour, 
Though to man it be not given 
While on earth to see its power. 

Yet the prophet's servant saw, 
When the Syrian host assailed, 
Every heavenly warrior. 
And bright encampment all unveiled. 



3o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And from yonder distant sky 
All the conflict we shall view : 
Turn, and see the dangers fly, 
And praise the God that led us through. 

James Edmeston 



TUESDAY 

" T X 7H0 yonder on the desert heath, 

V V Complains in feeble tone ? " 
"A pilgrim in the vale of Death, 
Faint, bleeding and alone ! " 

" How cam'st thou to this dismal strand 
Of danger, grief, and shame ? " 
" From blessed Zion's holy land, 
By Folly led, I came ! " 

" What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare ? 
Whose fury laid thee low ? " 
"Sin for my footsteps twined her snare. 
And Death has dealt the blow ! " 

" Can art no medicine for thy wound, 
Nor nature strength supply ? " 
" They saw me bleeding on the ground, 
And pass'd in silence by ! " 

" But, sufl"erer ! is no comfort near, 
Thy terrors to remove ? " 
" There is to Whom my soul was dear, 
But I have scorned His love." 

" What if His hand were nigh to save 
From endless death thy days ? " 
" The soul He ransom'd from the grave 
Should live but to His praise ! " 



XIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 307 

" Rise, then, oh rise ! His health embrace, 
With heavenly strength renew'd ; 
And, such as is thy Saviour's grace, 
Such be thy gratitude !" 

Reginald Heber 



WEDNESDAY 

COME let us sound her praise abroad, 
Sweet Charity, the child of God ! 
Her, on whose kind maternal breast 
The shelter'd babes of misery rest ; 

Who, when she sees the sufferer bleed, 
Reckless of name, or sect, or creed. 
Comes with prompt hand and look benign, 
To bathe his wounds in oil and wine ; 

Who in her robe the sinner hides. 
And soothes and pities while she chides ; 
Who lends an ear to every cry, 
And asks no plea but misery. 

Her tender mercies freely fall. 

Like Heaven's refreshing dews on all ; 

Encircling in their wide embrace 

Her friends, her foes — the human race. 

Nor bounded to the earth alone. 
Her love expands to worlds unknown ; 
Wherever Faith's rapt thought has soar'd. 
Or hope her upward flight explor'd. 

Ere these received their name or birth, 
She dwelt in Heaven, she smiled on earth ; 
Of all celestial graces blest, 
The first — the last — the greatest — best. 



3o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY 01^ SONG 

When Faith and Hope, from earth set free, 

Are lost in boundless ecstasy, 

Eternal daughter of the skies. 

She mounts to Heaven, and never dies. 

W. H. Drummond 



THURSDAY 

SINCE without Thee we do no good, 
And with Thee do no ill, 
Abide with us in weal and woe, 
In action and in will. 

In weal, — that while our lips confess 
The Lord that " gives," we may 

Remember, with an humble thought, 
The Lord Who " takes away." 

In woe, — that, while to drowning tears 
Our hearts their joys resign, 

We may remember Who can turn 
Such water into wine. 

By hours of day, — that when our feet 

O'er hill and valley run. 
We still may think the light of truth 

More welcome than the sun. 

By hours of night, — that when the air 

Its dew and shadow yields. 
We still may hear the voice of God 

In silence of the fields. 

Oh ! then sleep comes on us like death, 
All soundless, deaf and deep : 

Lord ! teach us so to watch and pray. 
That death may come like sleep. 



XIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 309 

Abide with us^ abide with us^ 

While flesh and soul agree ; 
And when our flesh is only dust, 

Abide our souls with Thee. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning 



FRIDAY 

AUTUMN has come at last ; and Nature now 
Binds up her summer tresses and disrobes, 
That she may lay herself in silence down 
Upon her winter's couch, and there by sleep 
Repair her worn-out energies, and draw 
New life into her veins, that when the sun 
Flames out again, and the long-silent voice 
Of happy birds and happier children wakes 
Spring's first glad matin song, she may arise. 
Girt with new strength and with fresh beauty 

clothed. 
Thus comes life's autumn, and the happy spirit, 
Calmly disrobing, lays its garments down, 
Upon the leaf-strewn soil of this old earth. 
Committing them, in quiet confidence. 
To the safe keeping of the trusty tomb. 
Till death's brief winter shall have passed away. 
Then these old robes, with which she walked the 

earth. 
Purged from each stain of vile mortality 
By the all-cleansing winter of the grave. 
And blanch'd to glorious whiteness by its gloom, 
Shall shine in fairer, fresher purity. 
When earth's long-promised spring at last arrives. 
And the unsetting sun smiles down in peace 
O'er a new Paradise of love and joy. 

HORATIUS BONAR 



3IO CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

IN every place, in every hour, 
Whate'er my wayward lot may be, 
In joy or grief, in sun or shower. 
Father and Lord, I turn to Thee. 

Thee, when the incense-breathing flowers 
Pour forth the worship of the spring, 

With the glad tenants of the bowers 
My trembling accents strive to sing. 

Thee, when upon the frozen strand 
Winter, begirt with storms, descends ; 

Thee, Lord, I hail, Whose gracious hand 
O'er all a guardian care extends. 

Thee, when the golden harvests yield 
Their treasures to increase our stofe ; 

Thee, when through ether's gloomy field 
The lightnings flash, the thunders roar. 

Thee, when athwart the azure sky 
Thy starry hosts their mazes lead, 

And when Thou sheddest from on high 
Thy dewdrops on the flowery mead. 

Thee, when my cup of bHss o'erflows ; 

Thee, when my heart's best joys are fled ; 
Thee, when my breast exulting glows ; 

Thee, while I bend beside the dead. 

Alike in joy and in distress, 

O let me trace Thy hand Divine ; 

Righteous in chast'ning, prompt to bless, 
Still, Father, may Thy will be mine. 

Lady Flora Hastings 



XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 311 

THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

LORD, through infinity, which lay outspread, 
Thou lookedst for a form and it was mine : 
From nothingness to happy life I sped — 
And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine ! 

Thou giv'st me to behold the teeming earth. 
With glimpses through it of Thy vast design : 

I feel its glory and its mystic worth — 

And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine I 

I placed the creatures on the Maker's Throne, 
Lost in their glamour to Thy claim Divine : 
And Thou didst plan to bring me back Thine 
own — 

And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine ! 

Thy Son forgot the raptures of the sky. 
Entering our nature as a lowly shrine. 

And was content because of me to die — 
And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine ! 

And now He comes to me as heavenly Food, 
Like Manna hidden 'neath the Bread and Wine : 

What ? Can I still prolong my thankless mood 
And linger always with the ungrateful nine ? 

Nay, Lord, behold me full of thankfulness : 
Help my ingratitude, for I am Thine : 

O teach my lips to praise Thee and to bless — 
/ will arise and leave the ungrateful nine I 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



312 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HAPPY is he, who at each gift of grace, 
Turns back to bless the bountiful Bestower, 
In whom the plentitude of largess stays. 
And welling ever, gathers more and more ! 

Happy is he, in whom o'erflowing love 
Finds a responsive heart to love again, 

Happy the soil, that goodly seeks to prove, 
By rapid growth the gentle falHng rain ! 

Like two sweet lutes, accorded well the two. 
When swept the one, the other murmurs sweet. 

So happy is the heart accorded true. 

That murmurs soft response and echo meet. 

Happy is he, whose streams of grace return. 

Laden with sweets, to whence they first have 
weird. 

Who keeps the freshness of youth's early morn, 
Fervent and fresh to late declining eld ! 

A few short years shall quickly pass away. 
Life's orbit traced, to be retraced no more, 

But he, whose course in love was guided aye, 
A wider orb shall reach, and goodlier shore; — 

Where everlasting love shall crown his soul, 

With new and fathomless depths, wherein to 
trace, 

As countless years pass by, and ages roll, 
The ample plenitude of loving grace ! 



XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 313 



TUESDAY 

LORD, what am I ? A worm, dust, vapour, 
nothing ! 
What is my life ? A dream, a daily dying ! 
What is my flesh ? My soul's uneasy clothing ! 
What is my time ? A minute ever flying I 
My time, my flesh, my life, and I : 
What are we, Lord, but vanity ? 

Where am I, Lord ? Downe in a vale of Death ; 

What is my trade ? Sin my dear God oflending : 
My sport sin, too ; my stay a pufi^e of breath : 
What end of sin ? Hell's horrour never ending : 
My way, my trade, sport, stay and place 
Help up to make my doleful case. 

Lord what art Thou? pure life, power, beauty, 
bliss : 
Where dwell'st Thou ? up above in perfect light : 
What is Thy time ? Eternity it is : 

What state ? attendance of each glorious spirit : 
Thyself, Thy place, Thy dayes. Thy state 
Pass all the thoughts of powers create. 

How shall I reach Thee, Lord? Oh, soar above. 
Ambitious soul ! But which way should I flie ? 
Thou, Lord, art way and end. What wings have 
I? 
Aspiring thoughts of faith, of hope, of love, 
Oh, let these wings that way alone 
Present me to Thy blissful throne. 

Joseph Hall 



314 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



WEDNESDAY 

AND is it so that Nature stints her praise, 
With niggard thanks makes offering to her 
God ; 
As though His Spirit knew not all her ways, 
And there were paths that He had never trod ? 

See, the lone iceberg glittering in the sun, 
Reflecting back his beams with thankfulness. 

And reck'ning up Heaven's blessings one by one. 
Does every separate ray with joy confess. 

It is not now and then that flowers are fair. 
And smile their gratitude for blessings given ; 

Or gleam at morning, through a grateful tear. 
For all the mercy showered down by Heaven. 

It is not here and there that woods grow green. 
And bud beneath the spring's reviving breath. 

Or in their brightest hues arrayed are seen 
With double beauty from their transient death. 

No, Nature is not backward ; she declares 

Each blessing as it comes, and owns her Lord ; 

She is no miser of her thanks, nor spares 
What due is to the Giver, loved, adored. 

Alas ! for man day after day may rise. 

Night after night may shade his thankless head ; 

He sees no God in the bright morning skies, 
He sings no praises for his guarded bed. 

But one in ten is found to bend him low, 

To thank that Father, Who has given him all. — 



XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 315 

Down on thy knees, thou thankless one, and know 
That He Who gives can, at a word, recall. 

T. Marsland Hopkins 



THURSDAY 

SWEET Hope is soveraigne comfort of our life 
Our joy in sorrow and our peace in strife ; 
The dame of beggars and the queene of kings : 
Can these delight in height of prosperous things 
Without expecting still to keep them sure ? 
Can those the weight of heavy wants endure 
Unless persuasion instant paine allay. 
Reserving spirit for a better day ? 
Our God, Who planted in His creature's breast 
This stop, on which the wheeles of passion rest, 
Hath rays'd, by beames of His abundant grace, 
This strong affection to a higher place. 
It is the second vertue which attends 
That soule whose motion to His sight ascends. 
Rest here, my mind, thou shalt no longer stay 
To gaze upon these houses made with clay : 
Thou shalt not stoope to honours or to lands. 
Nor golden balles, where sliding fortune stands ; 
If no false colours draw thy steps amisse, 
Thou hast a palace of eternal blisse, 
A paradise from care and feare exempt, 
An object worthy of the best attempt. 
Who would not for so rich a country fight ? 
Who would not runne that sees a goal so bright ? 
O Thou, Who art our Author and our End, 
On Whose large mercy chains of hope depend ; 
Lift me to Thee by Thy propitious hand, 
For lower I can find no place to stand. 

Sir John Beaumont 



3i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



FRIDAY 

WHY should we vex our foolish minds 
So much from day to day, 
With what concerning us an idle World 
May think or say ? 

Do we not know there sits a Judge, 
Before Whose searching eyes 

Our inmost hidden being cleft in twain 
And open lies ? 

O my Omniscient Lord and God ! 

Enough, enough for me. 
That Thou the evil in me and the good 

Dost wholly see. 

Let others in their fancies deem of me, 

Or say, whatever they will, 
Such as I am before Thy Judgment-throne 

So am I still. 

Praise they my good beyond desert, 

And all my bad ignore ; — 
That am I which in Thy pure sight I am. 

No less, no more ! 

Decry they all my good, and blame 

My evil in excess ; — 
That am I which in Thy pure sight I am, 

No more, no less ! 

Edward Caswall 



XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINItV 317 



SATURDAY 

NEATH the full beamings of an orient sky 
The prophet sat, watching what God would 

do 
Unto the doomed city. Nought was there 
Of lofty rock or shadowing palm-tree tall, 
From the sun's heat to shelter, so he made 
A booth and sat therein, and God prepared 
A gourd, which straightway grew ; and pleasantly 
Beneath the shadow of its spreading leaves 
The prophet felt refreshed. Brief pleasantness : 
For in the gourd — the gourd which gladdened him, 
The gourd which God's own goodness had 

prepared — 
There was a worm, which smote it that it withered, 
Withered and died. Was it not strange that 

God, 
Whose power prepared the comfort, should Himself 
As well prepare the blight ? but from the fact 
Is drawn a useful lesson, which our God 
Sees that His servants need. 

Ponder, my soul, 
The history : to nothing earthly yield 
Thy soul's affections ! In a night earth's joys 
Spring up, and ofttimes in a night they die — 
Die, blighted by the worm within themselves ! 
Neither presumptuously, my soul, arraign 
His ways Whose steps are on the shoreless sea ; 
But, holding earth's delights with loosened hand. 
Walk softly, humbly, prayerfully with God. 

Ebenezer Palmer 



3i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

THE FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

THEN give Thy saints 
That faithful zeal which neither faints 
Nor wildly burns, but meekly still 
Dares own the truth and show the ill. 
Frustrate those cancerous, close arts 
Which cause solution in all parts, 
And strike them dumb, who, for mere words 
Wound Thy beloved more than swords. 
Dear Lord, do thus ! and then let grace 
Descend and hallow all the place ; 
Incline each hard heart to do good, 
And cement us with Thy Son's blood ; 
That like true sheep, all in one fold, 
We may be fed and one mind hold. 
Give watchful spirits to our guides : 
For sin — like water — hourly glides 
By each man's door, and quickly will 
Turn in, if not obstructed still. 
Therefore write in their hearts Thy law, 
And let these long, sharp judgments awe 
Their very thoughts, that by their clear 
And holy lives Mercy may here 
Sit regent yet, and blessings flow 
As fast as persecutions now. 
So shall we know, in war and peace. 
Thy service to be our sole ease. 
With prostrate souls adoring Thee, 
Who turned our sad captivity. 

Henry Vaughan 



XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 319 

WEEK OF THE FIFTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

LIKE Israel's king, oft have I too received 
From some who fear not God, neither regard 
Man or man's laws, a letter, false, unkind. 
Threatening to injure. They are too hard for me. 
What can I but as Hezekiah did. 
Take it to God, and on the knee of prayer 
Supplicate, earnestly supplicate, in faith 
My Heavenly Father's all-sufficient aid ? 

O Thou Who dwell'st between the cherubim, 
Bow down Thine ear, and hear my sad complaint, 
Bow down Thine eye and see my deep distress ] 
Save, Father, that Thy children and the world 
May know that Thou and only Thou art God. 
In every gone-by trouble Thou hast heard. 
Thou hast upheld, till now ! Across the waste, 
The dreary wilderness of trodden years. 
Faith can full many an Ebenezer see, 
Pillars erected to commemorate 
The answered prayer, the great deliverance known. 
I plead no merit, Lord ; no worthiness ; 
I plead Thy Name, Thy promise ; yea, I look 
To Thee in Thy true temple, confident 
That while the prayer of faith is lisped without, 
Our great Melchizedek will incense give 
From His gold censer in the sanctuary, 
Perfumed by which my prayer acceptably 
Will reach the presence of the Lord of Hosts. 
Spirit of prayer ! teach me the prayer of faith ; 
I need the blessing, the protection need ; 



320 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Let not the chariot and the war-horse, Lord, 
Crush one who trusts in Thee, on Thee the Rock, 
The Rock to which I cling, all destitute ; 
Shelterless else ! Lord, -hear me ! hear and save ! 

Ebenezer Palmer 



TUESDAY 

WE walk amid a world of beauteous things, 
Unnumbered blessings all around us 
flowing, 
Till we forget the gracious Hand that brings. 
Unheeded in Its bountiful bestowing. 

Sweet sights, glad sounds, are round us every day — 
The golden dawn, the gentle breath of even. 

The scent of summer flowers, the sun's warm ray. 
And all for pleasure, all for comfort given. 

We walk in a new life ; for us the stain 

That fell on this bright world, God's fair creation, 

Is washed away ; and we are made again 

The sons of God, the heirs of Christ's salvation ; 

And Angels wave their guardian wings around ; 

Communion with eternal things is ours, 
Hopes brightening still, and joys that are not found 

On this fair earth with all her songs and flowers. 

Where are our deeds in grateful service done ? 

Where are the words with thankful rapture 
burning ? 
Alas ! though we are cleansed, there's scarcely one 

With voice of praise and works of love returning. 



XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 321 

But words are weak when thoughts lie deep and 
strong ; 
Then hearts run o'er, in deeds their love ex- 
pressing ', 
Be all your holy lives one grateful song, 

Be all your acts one voice of praise and blessing. 
Cecil Frances Alexander 



WEDNESDAY 

WEIGHING the steadfastness and state 
Of some mean things which here below 
reside, 
Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless date 

And intercourse of times divide. 
Where bees at night get home and hive, and 
flowers, 
Early as well as late, 
Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers : 

I would, said I, my God would give 

The staidness of these things to man ! for these 
To His divine appointment ever cleave. 

And no new business breaks their peace ; 
The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine. 

The flowers without clothes live, 
Yet Solomon was never drest so fine. 

Man hath still either toys or care ; 

He hath no root, nor to one place is tied. 
But ever restless and irregular 

About this earth doth run and ride. 
He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows 
where ; 

He says it is so far 
That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 

X 



322 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

He knocks at all doors, strays and roams ; 

Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have 
Which in the darkest nights point to their homes, 

By some hid sense-their Maker gave; 
Man is the shuttle to whose winding quest 

And passage through these looms 
God ordered motion, but ordained no rest. 

Henry Vaughan 



THURSDAY 

NAY, but these are breezes bright, 
Currents pure from deeps of light ; 
Bracing to all hearts are they. 
He Whom winds and seas obey 
To the children of His love 
Tempers them that they may prove 
Free, not lawless, chastely bold. 
Self-controlling, Heaven-controlled. 
Fear not if strong o'er thee such gales should blow, 
Even when autumnal life might sigh for calm ; 
But test them ere thine heart o'erflow. 
By pureness, and by love's soft balm. 

From the rushing of that breeze 

Far away the ill spirit flees. 

What were else a storm and strife, 

Blotting the last gleam of life. 

Now shall waft thee steadily 

Upward through the lucid sky, 

Like the deep air gathering 

Underneath an eagle's wing. 

Then fearless let the sacred whirlwind bear 

Thee, wearied else, where Christlike souls ascend ; 



XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 323 

But mark : — no gales may waft thee there, 
But thence were breathed, and homeward tend. 

John Keble 

FRIDAY 

THO' nothing once, and born but yesterday, 
Like Him Who knows nor ending nor decay. 
So shalt thou live, my soul, immortal one ! 
Strong as the firm, the dread, eternal throne, 
Endless as God, Who sits for aye thereon. 

Infinite Father ! shall Thy creature dare 
Look forth, and say, Eternity I share 
With Him Who made me ? May he forward send 
His thoughts, and say. Like God I know no end ? — 
Stretch onward, age on age, till mind grows dim. 
Yet conscious, cry. There still am I with Him ? 
Worm of the dust, thought almost blasphemy ! 
Dread glory ! — I, like God, shall ever be ! 

O goodness searchless ! Thou Who once didst walk 
With man on earth, with man familiar talk, 
Bringing Thyself to him, to lead the way 
From darkness up to glory and to day. 
Uniting with our form, that man, when blind 
To all but sense, the high intent might find 
Of his own soul, his never dying mind, — 
Teach us, in this Thy Sacrifice, to see 
Thy love, — our worth, in this great mystery. 

Richard Henry Dana 



SATURDAY 

SPIRIT of God ! descend upon my heart ; 
Wean it from earth ; through all its pulses move ; 
Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art. 
And make me love Thee as I ought to love. 



324 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies ; 

No sudden rending of the veil of clay ; 
No Angel-visitant, no opening skies ; 

But take the dimness of my soul away. 

Hast Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King ? 

All, all Thine own — soul, heart, and strength, 
and mind ; 
I see Thy Cross — there teach my heart to cling : 

O let me seek Thee, and O let me find ! 

Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh ; 

Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear ; 
To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh ; 

Teach me the patience of unanswer'd prayer. 

Teach me to love Thee as Thine Angels love, 
One holy passion filling all my frame ; 

The baptism of the Heaven-descended Dove, 
My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame. 

George Croly 



THE SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

THEY came on. 
Bearing a body heavily on its bier, 
And by the crowd that in the burning sun 
Walk'd with forgetful sadness, 'twas one 
Mourn'd with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate 
Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent 
His spear-point downwards as the bearers pass'd. 
Bending beneath their burden. There was one — 



XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 325 

Only one mourner. Close behind the bier, 
Crumpling the pall up in her wither'd hands, 
Follow'd an aged woman. Her short steps 
Falter'd with weakness, and a broken moan 
Fell from her lips, thicken'd convulsively 
As her heart bled afresh. The pitying crowd 
Follow'd apart, but no one spoke to her. 
She had no kinsmen. She had lived alone — 
A widow with one son. He was her all — 
The only tie she had in the wide world. 
And he was dead. They could not comfort her. 
Forth from the city-gate the pitying crowd 
Follow'd the stricken mourner. They came near 
The place of burial, and, with straining hands, 
Closer upon her breast she clasp'd the pall. 
And with a gasping sob, quick as a child's. 
And an inquiring wildness flashing through 
The thin grey lashes of her fever'd eyes, 
She came where Jesus stood beside the way. 
He look'd upon her, and His heart was moved. 
" Weep not ! " He said ; and as they stay'd the bier. 
And at His bidding laid it at His feet. 
He gently drew the pall from out her grasp 
And laid it back in silence from the dead. 
With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near. 
And gazed on His calm looks. A minute's space 
He stood and pray'd. Then, taking the cold 

hand, 
He said, " Arise ! " And instantly the breast 
Heaved in its cerements, and a sudden flush 
Ran through the lines of the divided lips. 
And with a murmur of his mother's name. 
He trembled and sat upright in his shroud. 
And, while the mourner hung upon his neck, 
Jesus went calmly on His way to Nain. 

Nathaniel Parker Willis 



326 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE SIXTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

OH sweetest words that Jesus could have 
spoke, 
To soothe the widow's heart which grief had 

broke ; 
They fall with comfort on mine ear, 
When life is sad and trouble near. 

They were not whispered accents, but aloud 
The Saviour spake them to the silent crowd ; 
That each might hear His heavenly voice, 
And in the widow's joy rejoice ! 

Words that were spoken amid sorrow's strife, 
And in the very midst of death and life ; 
They shall refresh my soul at last, 
And strengthen me till life is past. 

If poverty obscures my earthly lot, 

Then shall I hear my Saviour say, " Weep not " ; 

To God, our Father, raise thine eye. 

For He still hears the raven's cry. 

Though death the dearest to my heart has slain, 
Jesus shall yet restore my dead again ; 
"Weep not," He says, "poor weary one. 
But think on what at Nain I've done ! " 

And when I shall myself draw near to death, 
This Jesus shall be there, and thus He saith, 
" The race is run, the battle fought, 
I am thy light, thy life, * weep not ! ' " 



XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 327 

Oh, sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke, 
To raise the weary hearts which grief had broke ; 
Thrice blessed words ! I listening stay 
Till grief and sorrow melt away. 

Jane Borthwick 



TUESDAY 

ME hath He called to love Him, me hath 
deign'd 
To call His child, for me His life-blood 
pour'd ; 
And when I wander from Him He is pain'd : 
To all things else His all-constraining word 
Sets bounds, and o'er them throws His holding 
cord, 
But to our love : He asks our being whole : 
And who unto the soul can bounds afford ? 
'Tis He, Who can the infinite control. 
Alone can meet her love, alone can fill the soul. 

I ask not wealth, I ask not length of days. 

Nor joys which home and rural sights bestow, 
Nor honour among men, nor poet's praise. 
Nor friendship, nor the lamp of thought to 
know. 
Which, with its own warm light, bathes all 
below ; 
Nor that the seed I sow should harvest prove ; 
I ask not health, nor spirit's gladdening flow. 
Nor an assured pledge of rest above. 
If only Thou wilt give a heart to know Thy love. 

As many as the crosses which abound 

On every side our road which leads to Heaven, 



328 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

So many tokens of Thy care are found 
To wean our fancies unto pleasure given, 

To aid Thy Spirit which with ours hath striven, 
And bring us to the Cross of Thy deep woes. 

Here in the twilight of the silent even. 

While life's short day to stable darkness goes, 

My heart shall fly to Thee, and rest in Thy repose. 

Isaac Williams 



WEDNESDAY 

SEPTEMBER'S woods are clothed in darker 
green, 
Though yet autumnal crimson spares the trees ; 
The sunshine slants athwart the quiet scene. 
And harvest waves around in golden seas. 

No more the tender blade will cleave the soil, 
For now the swelling corn has filled the ear ; 

The husbandman awaits to-morrow's toil, 
The crown and issue of the busy year. 

But ere that sun can set and rise again, 

That slopes e'en now to hide beneath the west, 

There is a farewell respite for the grain ; 
A final evening of unhindered rest. 

And O, my heart, inspired by such a view 
Of rich and silent fields, that calmly wait, 

Frets at the countless turmoils, which pursue 
The hurrying moments of our mortal state ! 

And it becomes the prophet of a day. 

When God shall bid the whirl of labour cease. 

Yet hold the heavenly reapers from my way, 
And grant me too a parting hour of peace ! 



XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 329 

But, kindly harvest, though I view thee now 
With longings for an evening rest like thine. 

Behold, 'tis God's to yield or disallow. 

And 'tis my part to make His pleasure mine ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



THURSDAY 

P TERNAL Father ! God of peace ! 
-L^ Being Whose bounties never cease 
While to the heavens in grateful tones 
Ascend our mingled orisons. 
Listen to these, the notes of praise. 
Which we, a happy people, raise. 
Our hamlets, sheltered by Thy care. 
Abodes of peace and plenty are ; 
Our tillage by Thy blessing yields 
An hundredfold — the ripen'd fields 
Of waving grain — the burdened vine — 
Are tokens of Thy love divine. 
The cradled head of infancy 
Oweth its tranquil rest to Thee — 
Youth's doubting step, and firmer tread 
In years mature, by Thee are led — 
Secure may trembling age, O Lord, 
Lean on its staff, the Holy Word. 
Teach us these blessings to improve ; 
Teach us to serve Thee, teach to love — 
Exalt our hearts, that we may see 
The Giver of all Good in Thee : 
And be Thy Word our daily food. 
Thy service. Lord, our greatest good. 
Whether in youth, like early fruit. 
Or in the sere and solemn suit 
Of our autumnal age, like wheat 
Ripen'd, and for the reaper fit. 



330 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou cut us off, O God, may we 
Gathered into Thy garner be. 

H. Hastings Weld 



FRIDAY 

ALAS ! my torments ; my distracted fears 
Have no commerce with reasonable tears : 
How hath Heaven's absence darken'd the renown 
Of Zion's glory with one angry frown ! 
How hath the Almighty clouded those bright beams 
And changed her beauties' streamers into streams! 
Zion, the glory of whose refulgent fame 
Gave earnest of an everlasting name, 
Is now become an indigested mass ; 
And ruin is, where that brave glory was. 
How hath Heaven struck her earth-admired name 
From th' height of honour to the depth of shame ! 



Thou great Creator, Whose diviner breath 
Preserves Thy creature, joy'st not in his death, 
Look down from Thy eternal Throne, That art 
The only Rock of a despairing heart ; 
Look down Heaven, O from Thou, Whose tender 

ear 
Once heard the trickling of one single tear : 
How art Thou now estranged from his cry, 
That sends forth rivers from his tearful eye ! 
How often hast Thou, with a gentle arm, 
Raised me from death, and bid me fear no harm ! 
What strange disaster caused this sudden change ? 
How wert Thou once so near, and now so 

strange ! 

Francis Quarles 



XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 331 



SATURDAY 

WHEN darkness long has veil'd my mind 
And smiling day once more appears, 
Then, my Redeemer, then I find 
The folly of my doubts and fears. 

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart 
And blush that I should ever be 

Thus prone to act so base a part 

Or harbour one hard thought of Thee. 

Oh ! let me then at length be taught 
What I am still so slow to learn, 

That God is love and changes not, 
Nor knows the shadow of a turn. 

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! 

But when my faith is sharply tried, 
I find myself a learner yet. 

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. 

But, O my Lord, one look from Thee 

Subdues the disobedient will ; 
Drives doubt and discontent away, 

And Thy rebellious child is still. 

Thou art as ready to forgive 

As I am ready to repine ; 
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive ; 

Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. 

William Cowper 



332 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

THE SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

ONE baptism, and one faith, 
One Lord, below, above ! 
The fellowship of Zion hath 

One only watchward, — Love. 
From different temples though it rise, 
One song ascendeth to the skies. 

Our Sacrifice is One ; 

One priest before the Throne, — 
The Crucified, the risen Son, 

Redeemer, Lord alone ! 
And sighs from contrite hearts that spring. 
Our chief, our choicest offering. 

Oh, why should they who love 

One Gospel to unfold, 
Who look for one bright home above, 

On earth be strange and cold ? 
Why, subjects of the Prince of Peace, 
In strife abide, and bitterness ? 

Oh, may that holy prayer. 

His tenderest and His last. 
The utterance of His latest care. 

Ere to His Throne He passed, — 
No longer unfulfilled remain 
The world's offence, the people's stain ! 

Head of Thy Church beneath, 

The catholic, — the true, — 
On her disjointed members breathe, 

Her broken frame renew ! 



XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 333 

Then shall Thy perfect will be done 
When Christians love and live as one. 

E. Robinson 



WEEK OF THE SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

AN earnest, ardent will for good, 
Increasing still with new desire, 
Still longing more and more for food — 
Such is love's holy, heavenly fire ! 

Zeal for all virtue, more and more. 
Is the instinctive mark to prove 

That thou hast rightly learn'd to soar 
Upon the upward wings of love ! 

Who does not every hour apply 
Fresh fuel to increase the flame. 

Who lifts not up his heart on high, 
Knoweth of love but by the name ! 

Who does not every day improve. 

And grow more pure each forward pace, 

Knows not the fire of holy love, 
Nor basks within its kindly rays. 

A firm resolve to welcome death, 
Rather than grovel back in sin, 

To cling more loving to thy faith, 
And every day new worth to win ; — 



334 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

To bow before affliction's rod, 
To nurse a contrite soul apart. — 

Such are the fruits of love to God, 
Within the faithful's glowing heart ! 



TUESDAY 

SINCE trifles make the sum of human things, 
And half our misery from our foibles springs ; 
Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease. 
And though but few can serve, yet all may please : 
Oh ! let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, 
A small unkindness is a great offence. 
To spread large bounties though we wish in vain. 
Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain : 
To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth. 
With rank to grace them, or to crown with health. 
Our little lot denies ; yet liberal still. 
Heaven gives its counterpoise to every ill ; 
Nor let us murmur at our stinted powers, 
When kindness, love, and concord, may be ours. 
The gift of ministering to others' ease. 
To all alike, impartial, God decrees : 
The gentle offices of patient love. 
Beyond all flattery, and all price above : 
The mild forbearance at a brother's faulty 
The angry word suppressed, the taunting thought j 
Subduing and subdued, the petty strife. 
Which clouds the colour of domestic life ; 
The sober comfort, all the peace which springs 
From the large aggregate of little things ; 
On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend, 
The almost sacred joys of home depend. 
There, kind affection, there thou best may reign, 
Home is thy true legitimate domain. 



XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 335 

A solitary bliss thou ne'er could'st find, 

Thy joys with those thou lov'st are intertwined ; 

And he whose helpful tenderness removes 

The rankhng thorn which wounds the breast he 

loves, 
Smooths not another's rugged path alone, 
But clears the obstructions which impede his own. 

Hannah More 



WEDNESDAY 

WORK while it is called to-day, 
Watch and pray ! 
With both thine hands right earnestly, 
As in sight of God most high, 
Thy calling ply. 

Watch ! it is the Master calls thee ; 

Pray ! it is His ear that hears ; 

Up ! shake off thy chilly fears ! 
Mindful that whate'er befalls thee 

Leaves thee further on thy way. 
Watch and pray. 

Watch ! for demons haunt around thee, 
Sin and harm beset thy path ; 
Yet be sure that nothing hath 

Power to hinder or confound thee. 
So thou faithfully alway 

Watch and pray. 

Pray ! lest watching make thee weary ; 

Praying thou shalt never fail, 
Though the night be long and dreary, 



336 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Though the dawn be faint and pale, 
Brightens fast the perfect day : 
Watch and pray. 

H. G. TOMKINS 



THURSDAY 

THERE are some hearts like wells, green-mossed 
and deep 
As ever summer saw, 
And cool their water is, yea, cool and sweet ; 

But you must come to draw. 
They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content. 

And not unsought will give ; 
They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, 
So self-contained they live. 

And there are some like springs, that bubbling 
burst 

To follow dusty ways, 
And run with offered cup to quench his thirst 

Where the tired traveller strays ; 
That never ask the meadows if they want 

What is their joy to give ; 
Unasked, their lives to other life they grant. 

So self-bestowed they live. 

And One is like the ocean, deep and wide. 

Wherein all waters fall ; 
That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, 

Feeding and bearing all. 
That breeds the mists, that sends the clouds abroad, 

That takes again to give ; — 
Even the great and loving heart of God, 

Whereby all love doth live. 



XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 337 



FRIDAY 

ARISE, my soul, the morning sun 
Will soon disperse the silv'ry mist ; 
Its giant course is just begun ; 

E'en now the rose of dawn hath kiss'd 
The topmost branches of the trees ; 

Arise, my soul, the early birds 
Are waken'd by the whisp'ring breeze 
Rustling the foliage, and the words 
Of God Himself join with the song, and say : 
"Arise, come forth, and work while it is day." 

But, O my soul ! thy morn is o'er, 

The mid-day of thy course is past ; 
Is pass'd to be recall'd no more, 

And ev'ning shades are falling fast. 
Hast thou indeed no work to do. 

That I may fold my arms and sleep ? 
Thou hast to battle with the foe ; 

A race to run ; a guard to keep. 
Look to the Cross ! The Saviour never cried 
" 'Tis finish'd " till He bowed the head and died. 

Lord ! I loitered by the way. 

And slumber'd while the golden light 
Call'd me to work, to watch and pray, 
To run the race, and fight the fight : 

1 paus'd to pluck some fragile flower 
Which faded ere the sun went down, 

Forgetful that the Christian's dower 
Is first the cross, and then the crown. 
Restore my soul, may I no longer roam ; 
But keep the narrow way that leads me home. 

John Streatfeild 

Y 



338 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



SATURDAY 

SOUL, when your flesh dissolves to dust, 
To God's safe hands yourself entrust ; 
Be not too curious to inquire 

Where to aspire ; 

Whether to Paradise you fly, 
Or in bless'd Abram's bosom lie, 
Or to that orb your flight you raise 

Where Enoch stays ; 

Or to the third celestial sphere. 
Where wonders Paul was rapt to hear, 
Or Hades blest, where souls elect 

Full bliss expect. 

Secure your love while here below. 
And dying you'll to Jesus go : 
Paul long lov'd Jesus' face to view, 

For that long you. 

Bless'd Jesus' boundless bliss divine, 
In you a miniature will shine, 
Glory for glory, beam for beam 

Will on you stream. 

A crown, a throne on God's right hand. 
Where saints their robes of ray expand, 
Where saints are kings, and on their state 

High Angels wait. 

Such blessings on the saints attend, 
When Jesus-like they Heaven ascend. 
The Lamb of joys, the boundless Spring, 

They'll ever sing. 



XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 339 

Death our forerunner is, and guides 
To Zion where the Lamb abides ; 
There saints enjoy ecstatic rest 

In mansions blest. 
Thomas Ken 



THE EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

CHRIST had two several wrongs to bear ; 
Two sets of foes to flee ; 
The Pharisee drew nigh to snare, 
To sneer, the Sadducee. 

And still the Lord two classes sees 

His Gospel's spread oppose ; 
Professing hypocrites are these ; 

And sensual worldlings those. 

Both to the temple take their way. 

And join the Saviour's walk. 
But chiefly still, that Christ they may 

Entangle in His talk. 

Both hear His gracious words of truth, 
Then straight their grace pervert ; 

These a self-righteous pride to soothe. 
And those a carnal heart. 

Each to the other bears a grudge ; 

These harshly censure those ; 
And catch what words of Christ they judge 

To silence put their foes. 



340 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Both the true Lord alike reject, 

AUke from grace far off ; 
Though these a coming Christ expect, 

And those Messiah scoff. 



With both the Lord alike is wroth ; 

Both shall to shame be driven : 
Lord, help me, while I mix with both. 

To shun of each the leaven. 

Lord Kinloch 



WEEK OF THE EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

CLEARLY I see, 
My God, how Thou, in every fate Thou 
send'st, 
Only by different wile of love intend'st 
To draw to Thee. 

In joy's bright hour, 
Thou'dst have us bring our flowers to Thee for 

gift; 
Close to Thy side our place of refuge shift. 
When tempests lour. 

But each event 
We construe wrong ; joy to the festive room 
Sends us from Thee ; woe to a sullen gloom, 

In our frail tent. 



XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 341 

Like children we, 
Whom in the market-place their fellows try, 
With varied speech ; but who, perverse or shy, 

To nought agree. 

The merry pipe 
Is tuned to rouse them ; but they will not dance ; 
Sad tales are told, yet ne'er, for one mischance, 

A tear they wipe. 

E'en thus, and more, 
Our folly, Lord, tow'rds Thee ; the bliss bestowed 
Finds us unthankful ; and love's sadder mode. 

Hard to the core. 

Lord, take away 
This childish mind, and give a healthier tone : 
Make, both by beam and cloud, each heart Thine own, 

For all the day. 

Lord Kinloch 



TUESDAY 

I SAY to thee, do thou repeat 
To the first man thou mayest meet 
In lane, highway, or open street — 

That he, and we, and all men move 

Under a canopy of love 

As broad as the blue sky above ; 

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain. 
And anguish, are but shadows vain, 
That death itself shall not remain. 

That weary deserts we may tread, 
A dreary labyrinth may thread, 
Through dark ways underground be led ; 



342 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Yet, if we will one Guide obey, 
The dreariest path, the darkest way 
Shall issue out in. heavenly day; 

And we, on divers shores now cast. 
Shall meet, our perilous voyage past. 
All in our Father's house at last. 

And ere thou leave him, say thou this, 
Yet one word more — they only miss 
The winning of that final bliss, 

Who will not count it true, that Love, 
Blessing, not cursing, rules above. 
And that in it we live and move. 

And one thing further make him know, — 
That to believe these things are so, 
This firm faith never to forego. 

Despite of all that seems at strife 
With blessing, all with curses rife. 
That this is blessing, this is life. 

Richard Chenevix Trench 



WEDNESDAY 

WIDELY midst the slumbering nations 
Darkness holds his despot sway ; 
Cruel in his habitations. 

Ruthless o'er his prostrate prey. 
Star of Bethlehem ! 
Rise and beam in conquering day ! 

Light of Life, our sole Defender, 
Rise with healing on Thy wing ; 
Rise in all Thy soothing splendour ; 



XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 343 

Rise, and earth with joy will sing ! 

Israel's glory ! 
Gentiles call Thee " Lord and King ! " 

Christians, haste ! the morn is breaking ; 

Darkness wheels his downward flight ; 
But, your polished armour taking, 

Stand, nor quit the waning fight. 
Great Redeemer ! 

Guard us with Thy shield of light. 

Onward, Christians, onward pressing, 

Triumph in the Crucified ! 
Endless honour, rest and blessing, 
Wait you at His radiant side. 
Cease not, cease not, 
Till you see Him glorified. 

William Henry Havergal 



THURSDAY 

THEY are all gone into the world of light ! 
And I alone sit lingering here ; 
Their very memory is fair and bright, 
And my sad thoughts doth clear : — 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 

Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest, 
After the sun's remove. 

I see them walking in an air of glory. 
Whose light doth trample on my days : 

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
Mere glimmerings and decays. 



344 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh holy Hope ! and high Humihty, 

High as the heavens above ! 
These are your walks, and you have show'd them 
me, 

To kindle my cold love. 

Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just, 

Shining nowhere, but in the dark ; 
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 

Could man outlook that mark ! 

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may 
know 

At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
But what fair well or grove he sings in now. 

That is to him unknown. 

And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 

Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; 
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted 
themes 
And into glory peep. 

Henry Vaughan 



FRIDAY 

O PIETY ! O heavenly Piety ! 
She is not rigid as fanatics deem. 
But warm as Love, and beautiful as Hope. 

Prop of the weak, the crown of humbleness, 
The clue of doubt, the eyesight of the blind, 
The heavenly robe and garniture of clay ! 



XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 345 

Clad in that raiment, ever white and pure, 
The wayside mire is harmless to defile. 
And rudest storms sweep impotently by. 

Shown by that clue, the doubtful path is clear, 
The intricate snares and mazes of the world 
Are all unlabyrinth'd and bright as day. 

Sweet Piety ! divinest Piety ! 
She has a soul capacious as the spheres, 
A heart as large as all humanity. 

Who to his dwelling takes that visitant, 
Has a perpetual solace in all pain, 
A friend and comforter in every grief. 

The noblest domes, the haughtiest palaces. 
That know not her, have ever open gates 
Where misery may enter at her will. 

But from the threshold of the poorest hut 
Where she sits smihng, sorrow passes by, 
And owns the spell that robs her of her sting. 

Charles Mackay 



SATURDAY 

LORD, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell 
In such a frail, ungracious heart as mine ? 
Then from that heart the idol self expel. 

And make it Thine, O Lord, and only Thine. 
When Israel chose Thy mercy as their theme, 

The glory shone most brightly from Thy face ; 
When we are lowest in our own esteem, 

Our hearts become Thy favour'd dwelling-place; 



346 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

When grace alone is sought, and self is lost, 
Our souls will then reflect Thine image most. 

" Christ in us " ! — who can reach the depth and 
height, 

The length and breadth of such a gift as this ? 
In weakness He is strength, in darkness light, 

Amidst the world's distress an untold bliss. 
Treasures of wisdom to a simple mind, 

Riches of grace the contrite heart to bless, 
A clear and open vision to the blind, 

And to the naked soul a comely dress ; 
Compared with this all other gifts are dim : 
Poor in ourselves, yet we have all in Him. 

With " Christ in us," our glorious hope is sure ; 

Dwelling in Him the true and living way, 
Our souls are safe, and to the end endure ; 

Through faith all sin and guilt on Him we lay : 
See through the veil our great High Priest within, 

Prepared His own redeemed ones to bless ; 
Himself made sin for us, Who knew no sin. 

That we might perfect righteousness possess ; 
While by His Spirit, dwelling in our hearts. 
His peace, His joy. His glory He imparts. 

John Streatfeild 



THE NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

IF we scan 
The wide or narrow circle of our friends 
And weigh their worth, we find, alas ! that all. 
Even in the glance of charity, possess 



XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 347 

Some spot ; and if we haply mark ourselves, 

We are not perfect ! E'en humanity, 

Like the spoilt picture of some master-mind, 

Hath much it may admire, but prominent 

The fault obtrudes ! And as when Lucifer 

Poured the dark drop at Eden's fountain-head. 

He poisoned every stream ; e'en so when Eve 

The cup of disobedience tasted there. 

She gave to all her children naughtiness, 

Which only death can end ! The silent grave 

Is Nature's crucible ! our bodies thence, 

Crumbled to dust, and yet, new modelled there, 

Shall rise in pristine beauty, like the Lord, 

If, in the Lord, on earth regenerate ! 

Oh ! let this truth teach tenderness to all ! 

And when we mark unlovely tempers rise, 

When in our brother, in God's likeness made. 

And more especially in one new-born, 

We see the shadow of the tempter flash 

O'er features God made good, oh, let us ask, — 

Not of the tempter, nor of his own pride, 

Indignant to reply, — but at the throne, 

The mercy throne, where sits the Prince of 

Peace, 
Let us, all conscious we are liable 
To the same temper, the same tempest too. 
Ask larger measure of that heavenly grace 
Which calms, and loves, and wins ! 

Ebenezer Palmer 



348 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE NINETEENTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

" T OVE God, love truth, love virtue, and be 

J—' happy " ; 
These were the words first uttered in the ear 
Of every being rational made, and made 
For thought, or word, or deed accountable. 
Most men the first forgot, the second none. 
Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, 
By day or night, the universal wish, 
The aim and sole intent was happiness. 
But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, 
Strange tracts indeed they took through barren 

wastes. 
And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled. 
Which pining lay beneath the curse of God, 
And nought produced. Yet did the traveller look 
And point his eye before him greedily. 
As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew 
The heavenly flower, where sprang the well of life, 
Where undisturbed felicity reposed ; 
Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern, 
That happiness had ever passed that way. 

Wisdom was right, for still the terms remained 
Unchanged, unchangeable — the terms on which 
True peace was given to man, unchanged as God, 
Who, in His own essential nature, binds 
Eternally to virtue happiness. 
Nor lets them part through all His universe. 

Robert Pollok 



XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 349 



TUESDAY 

I STOOD and watched my ships go out, 
Each, one by one, unmooring free, 
What time the quiet harbour filled 
With flood-tide from the sea. 

The first that sailed, — her name was Joy ; 

She spread a smooth and ample sail, 
And eastward strove, with bending spars, 

Before the singing gale. 

Another sailed, — her name was Hope ; 

No cargo in her hold she bore, 
Thinking to find in western lands 

Of merchandise a store. 

The next that sailed, — her name was Love ; 

She showed a red flag at the mast, — 
A flag as red as blood she showed. 

And she sped south right fast. 

The last that sailed, — her name was Faith ; 

Slowly she took her passage forth. 
Tacked and lay to — at last she steered 

A straight course for the north. 

My gallant ships they sailed away 
Over the shimmering summer sea ; 

I stood at watch for many a day. 
But only one came back to me. 

For Joy was caught by Pirate Pain ; 

Hope ran upon a hidden reef; 
And Love took fire, and foundered fast 

In 'whelming seas of grief. 



350 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Faith came at last, storm-beat and torn ; 

She recompensed me all my loss, 
For as a cargo safe she brought 

A Crown, lihked to a Cross ! 



WENESDAY 

NIGHT turns to day when sullen darkness 
lowers, 
And heaven and earth are hid from sight ; 
Cheer up, cheer up, ere long the opening flowers. 
With dewy eyes shall shine in light ! 

Winter wakes spring, when icy blasts are blowing 
O'er frozen lakes, through naked trees ; 

Cheer up, cheer up, all beautiful and glowing. 
May floats in fragrance on the breeze. 

Storms die in calms, when over land and ocean 

Rolls the loud chariot of the wind ; 
Cheer up, cheer up, the voice of wild commotion 

Proclaims tranquillity behind. 

War ends in peace : though dread artillery rattle, 
And ghastly corses load the ground ; 

Cheer up, cheer up ; where groan'd the field of 
battle 
The corn shall deck the peaceful ground. 

Toil brings repose ; with noontide fervours beating, 
When droop thy temples o'er thy breast ; 

Cheer up, cheer up, gray twilight cool and fleeting. 
Wafts on its wing the hour of rest. 



XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 351 

Death springs to life, though sad and brief thy 
story, 
Thy years all spent in grief and gloom ; 
Look up, look up, eternity and glory 
Dawn through the terrors of the tomb. 

James Montgomery 



THURSDAY 

RISE ! for the day is passing. 
And you lie dreaming on ; — 
The others have buckled their armour 

And forth to the field have gone. 
A place in the ranks awaits you, 

Each man has some part to play ; 
The past and the future are nothing 
In the face of the stern to-day. 

Rise from your dreams of the future — 

Of gaining some hard-fought field, 
Of storming some airy fortress, 

Or bidding some giant yield. 
Your future has deeds of glory. 

Of honour (God grant it may !) 
But your arm will never be stronger. 

Or the need more great, than to-day. 

Rise ! if the past detains you. 

Her sunshine and storms forget ; 
No chains so unworthy to hold you 

As those of a vain regret. 
Sad or bright, she is lifeless for ever ; 

Cast her phantom arms away, 
Nor look back, save to learn the lesson 

Of a nobler strife to-day. 



352 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Rise ! for the day is passing ; 

The low sound you scarcely hear, 
Is the enemy marching to battle — 

Arise, for the foe is near ! 
Stay not to sharpen your weapons. 

Or the hour will strike at last, 
When, from dreams of a coming battle, 

You may wake to find it past ! 



FRIDAY 

NOW weary men are tending to their home, 
The sun is going down on mount and sea ; 
Where shall the way-worn pilgrim cease to roam, 
Or find on earth a resting-place but Thee ? 

This is the pilgrim's way-side hospital. 

With oil and wine meet for his sorrowing breast ; 

From thence Thy loving accents seem to call, — 
** Come unto Me, ye weary, and find rest." 

This shall be fire to warm his world-chilled heart, 
A light to lighten in the darkest gloom, — 

In life or death in Thee to have his part, — 
Here shall the homeless traveller find a home. 

Home-loving men, amid their homes at ease. 
They are of all most homeless ; and where'er 

The palmer strays, each man on earth he sees 
Is but a stranger and a sojourner. 

And village-homes that seem so still and bright 
By golden streams and meadows rich and fair, 

And castellated holds on mountain height 
That catch the sun's last gleam, rais'd high in air, — 



XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 353 

All these unreal things appear to me 
The melancholy shadow of a shade ; 

Or cloudy pageants in the setting sun, 

That seem so fair because so soon to fade. 

The sun is going down, and bids good night 
To homeward wandering men, and field, and 
town ; 
Thou art my light in darkness, and more bright 
When this sun fails, — a star that goes not down. 

Isaac Williams 



SATURDAY 

'TpiS not the temple's shrine 
^ Which holy makes the place ; 
Where'er God is, is power divine ; 
Where'er God helps, is grace. 

The bush on Horeb's peak. 
Burning, and unconsumed, 
The prophet bent to reverence meek. 
For God the spot illumed. 

The sword at night beheld, 
By Jordan's swelling bed. 
The captain of the host compelled 
To own the Lord Who led. 

Think of thy God as near ; 
And, once His presence found, 
Be sure, whate'er around appear. 
Thou tread'st on holy ground. 

Put off, O man, thy shoes. 

With which thou earth hast trod ; 



354 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thee from earth's dust and toil unloose 
And worship pay thy God. 

So shalt thou find a light, 
To burn, and still endure ; 
A leader of all-conquering might, 
To make thy Canaan sure. 

Lord Kinloch 



THE TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

SOLDIER, go— but not to claim 
Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, 
Not to build a vaunting name, 

Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. 
Dream not that the way is smooth. 

That thy path is strewn with roses ; 
Turn no wistful eye of youth 

Where the sunny beam reposes : — 
Thou hast sterner work to do, 
Hosts to cut thy passage through : 
See the plain behind thee burning ! 
Forward ! — there is no returning. 

Soldier, rest — but not for thee 

Spreads the world her downy pillow ; 
On the rock thy couch must be. 

While around thee chafes the billow ; 
Thine must be a watchful sleep. 

Longer than a restless waking : 
Such a watch as thou dost keep 

Brooks no moment of forsaking. 



XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 355 

Sleep, as on the battle-field, 
Girded — grasping sword and shield : 

Foes thou canst not name or number 

Steal upon thy broken slumber. 

Soldier, rise ! the war is done ; 

Lo, both death and hell are flying ; 
'Twas thy Lord the battle won ; 

Jesus vanquish'd them by dying. 
Pass the stream — before thee lies 

All the conquer'd land of glory j — 
Hark ! — what songs of rapture rise ! 
These proclaim the Victor's story. 
Soldier, lay thy weapons down, 
Sheath the sword, and take the crown : 
Triumph ! all thy foes are banished ; 
Death is slain ; and earth has vanished. 

Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna 



WEEK OF THE TWENTIETH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHAT had I been if Thou wert not ? 
What were I now if Thou wert gone ? 
Anguish and fear were then my lot, 
In this wide world I stood alone ; 
Whate'er I loved were safe no more, 

The future were a dark abyss. 
To whom could I my sorrows pour. 
If Thee my laden heart should miss ? 



356 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But when Thou mak'st Thy presence felt, 

And when the soul has grasped Thee right. 
How fast the dreary shadows melt 

Beneath Thy warm and living light : 
In Thee I find a nobler birth, 

A glory o'er the world I see, 
And Paradise returns to earth, 

And blooms again for us in Thee. 

Thou strong and loving Son of Man, 

Redeemer from the bonds of sin, 
'Tis Thou the living spark dost fan 

That sets my heart on fire within. 
Thou openest Heaven once more to men^, 

The soul's true home, Thy Kingdom, Lord, 
And I can trust and hope again, 

And feel myself akin to God. 

Brethren, go forth beside all ways, 

The wanderer greet with outstretch'd hand. 
And call him back who darkly strays, 

And bid him join our gladsome band. 
That Heaven hath stoop'd to earth below, 

Proclaim the glad news everywhere, 
That all may learn our faith, and know 

They too may find an entrance there. 

Lyra Germanica 



TUESDAY 

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy. 
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and 
Verse, 
Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power employ 
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 



XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 357 

And to our high-raised fantasy present 
That undisturbed song of pure concent, 
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne 
To Him that sits thereon, 
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row. 
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow ; 
And the Cherubic host, in thousand quires, 
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. 
With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 
Hymns devout and holy psalms 
Singing everlastingly : 
That we on earth, with undiscording voice, 
May rightly answer that melodious noise. 
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin 
Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
Broke the fair musick that all creatures made 
To their great Lord, Whose love their motion sway'd 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience and their state of good. 
O may we soon again renew that song. 
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To His celestial concert us unite. 
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of 
light ! 

John Milton 

WEDNESDAY 

BEHOLD the Sun from eastern gloom arise 
Circling the heavens upon his glittering way : 
Transparent glory flashes from the skies 

And gladsome earth exults to greet the day ! 

E'en thus, where souls of men are plunged in night, 
I view the Church's Lord in splendour shine ! 



358 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

O how He sheds the Spirit's quickening light 
And bathes the human heart in tints divine ! 

Yea, as the gold narcissus, the red rose, 
The snowdrop, white as winter nearly done. 

The violet and each blushing flower that blows, 
Draw each their dye from the pellucid Sun, 

So from the shining of the Incarnate's Face, 
Grow Martyrs' courage and the tearful care 

Of penitents, rich Love and Virgins' grace — 
The countless gifts that Saints have won by 
prayer ! 

Never may Sin with dark embowering leaves 
O'ershade and blanch my soul to deathlike hue : 

But some rich glow, such as Thy light achieves 
In Thine elect, work in me, Saviour, too ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 

THURSDAY 

AS men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod. 
And trip at night, have spheres supplied ; 
As if a star were duller than a clod, 

Which knows his way without a guide : 

Just so the other Heaven they also serve. 

Divinity's transcendent sky : 
Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. 

Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. 

Could not that Wisdom, which first broach'd the 
wine, 

Have thicken'd it with definitions? 
And jagg'd His seamless coat, had that been fine. 

With curious questions and divisions ? 



XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 359 

But all the doctrine, which He taught and gave, 
Was clear as Heaven, from whence it came. 

At least those beams of truth, which only save, 
Surpass in brightness any flame. 

Love God, and love your neighbour. Watch and 
pray. 

Do as you would be done unto. 
O dark instructions, e'en as dark as day ! 

Who can these Gordian knots undo ? 

But He doth bid us take His blood for wine. 

Bid what He please ; yet I am sure. 
To take and taste what He doth there design, 

Is all that saves, and not obscure. 

Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man ; 

Break all thy spheres, and save thy head ; 
Faith needs no staff of flesh, but stoutly can 

To Heaven alone both go, and lead. 

George Herbert 



FRIDAY 

THY ways, O Lord, are unlike ours ; 
Thy thoughts surpass our own ; 
And Angels, when they scan their powers, 
Fall, wing-veiled, round the Throne. 

Resistance seems a noble gift 

To reason's haughty view ; 
And passions, which proud self uplift, 

Re-echo it as true. 

But He, Whose will was crucified 
Throughout His sad career. 



36o CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG 

Whom earth abhorr'd and man denied 
One sympatlietic tear, 

On bearing outrage, wrong and hate, 
This Heaven-born lesson taught, 

That souls are not divinely great 
Except with meekness fraught. 

Submission, tender, mild, and deep, 

Not sullen, stern, or sad, 
But gentle, as v/hen Angels weep 

While they watch o'er the bad, — 

Such the meek virtue Christ commends, 

Believer, as divine ; 
And, if thy knee to Jesu bends, 

That lowly grace be thine. 

In Christ the lamb and lion met. 
Their graces were combined ; 

And blest are those who follow yet 
The path He left behind. 

Robert Montgomery 



SATURDAY 

THERE is a Sabbath won for us, 
A Sabbath stored above, 
A service of eternal calm, 
An altar-rite of love. 

There is a Sabbath won for us, 
^Vhere we shall ever wait 

In mute or voiceful ministries 
Upon the Immaculate. 



XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 361 

There shall transfigured souls be filled 

With Christ's Eternal Name, 
Dipped, like bright censers, in the sea 

Of molten glass and flame. 

Yet set not in thy thoughts too far 

Our Heaven and Earth apart, 
Lest thou should'st wrong the Heaven begun 

Already in thy heart. 

Though Heaven's above and Earth's below 

Yet are they but one state, 
And each the other with sweet skill 

Doth interpenetrate. 

Yea, many a tie and office blest, 

In earthly lots uneven. 
Hath an immortal place to fill 

And is a root of Heaven. 

And surely Sundays bright and calm, 

So calm, so bright as this, 
Are tastes imparted from above 

Of higher sabbath bliss. 

Frederick William Faber 



THE TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

GIRD thy loins up. Christian soldier ; 
Lo ! thy Captain calls thee out : 
Let the danger make thee bolder ; 
War, in weakness ; dare, in doubt. 



362 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Buckle on thy heavenly armour ; 

Make thou no inglorious peace ; 
Let thy courage wax the warmer 

As thy foes and fears increase. 

Bind thy golden girdle round thee, 

Truth — to keep thee firm in fight ; 
Never shall the foe confound thee 

While the truth maintains the right. 
Righteousness within thee rooted 

May appear to take thy part ; 
But let righteousness imputed 

Be the breastplate of thy heart. 

Though to speak thou be not able, 

Always pray, and never rest. 
Prayer's a weapon for the feeble ; 

Weakest souls can wield it best. 
Ever on thy Captain calling, 

Make thy worst condition known ; 
He shall hold thee up when falling, 

Or shall lift thee up when down. 

JosiAH Hart 



WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

OH ! Thou, that driest the mourner's tear. 
How dark this world would be, 
If, when deceived and wounded here, 
We could not fly to Thee ! 



XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 363 

The friends, who in our sunshine Hve, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give 

Must weep those tears alone. 

But Thou wilt heal the broken heart, 
Which, like the plants that throw 

Their fragrance from the wounded part. 
Breathes sweetness out of woe ; 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And even hope, that threw 
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. 

Is dimmed and vanished too. 

Oh ! who could bear life's stormy doom, 

Did not Thy Word of love 
Come brightly bearing, through the gloom, 

A peace- branch from above ? 

Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright 

With more than rapture's ray ; 
As darkness shows us worlds of light 

We could not see by day. 

Thomas Moore 



TUESDAY 

STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, 
Whom we, that have not seen Thy face. 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace. 
Believing where we cannot prove ! 

Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; 

Thou madest life in man and brute ; 

Thou madest Death ; and, lo ! Thy foot 
Is on the skull which Thou hast made. 



364 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : 
Thou madest man, he knows not why ; 
He thinks he was not made to die ; 

And Thou hast made him : Thou art just. 

Thou seemest human and divine 
The highest, holiest manhood Thou : 
Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 

Our wills are ours, to make them Thine. 

Our little systems have their day ; 

They have their day, and cease to be ; 

They are but broken lights of Thee, 
And Thou, O Lord ! art more than they. 

We have but faith : we cannot know, 
For knowledge is of things we see ; 
And yet we trust it comes from Thee, 

A beam in darkness : let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell ; 
That mind and soul, according well, 

May make one music, as before. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



WEDNESDAY 

LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine, 
If mine I am : and Thine much more, 
Than I or ought, or can be mine. 
Yet to be Thine, doth me restore ; 
So that again I now am mine. 
And with advantage mine the more. 



XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 365 

Since this being mine, brings with it Thine 
And Thou with me dost Thee restore. 
If I without Thee would be mine, 
I neither should be mine nor Thine. 



Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine : 
So mine Thou art, that something more 
I may presume Thee mine, than Thine. 
For Thou didst suffer to restore 
Not Thee, but me, and to be mine : 
And with advantage mine the more, 
Since Thou in death wast none of Thine, 
Yet then as mine didst me restore. 

O be mine still ! still make me Thine ; 

Or rather make no Thine and mine ! 
George Herbert 



THURSDAY 

GIVE us Thy blessed peace, God of all might ! 
Without it, we must weary in the fight ; 
Without it, our weak service soon must cease : 
Give us Thy blessed peace. 

Life's day is sultry, and its evening chill, 
With little left to cheer ; yet the heart still 
Cleaveth to dust, nor can obtain release, 
Excepting through Thy peace. 

Lord, give us peace, let it refresh anew 
The deeply tempted, yet the tried and true. 
Lest earthly spirits foil us in the strife, 
Of this too earnest life. 



366 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The fathers, loved by Thee, this blessing knew : 
Their children in the desert need it too. 
Give peace, and hope to lay our weapons down, 
And gain the victor's crown. 

Our life below, until the journey close, 
Is often stormy, and beset with foes ; 
Lord, in the shadow of Thy peace give rest, 
When we are most opprest. 

And whensoever death itself appear, 
Then may Thy Angel messengers be near, 
And bear us hence, to share, when troubles cease, 
Thine everlasting peace ! 

Jane Borthwick 



FRIDAY 

OH, were I ever what I am sometimes. 
And never more what I sometimes have 
been ; 
For oft my spirit, singing as it climbs. 

Can make of winter bleak a summer green : 
And yet sometimes, and in the sunniest weather, 
My work and I have fallen out together. 

Now, earth seems drossy. Heaven the land of gold, 
Anon Heaven fabulous, substantial earth ; 

And sometimes in my God I can be bold, 

And say, "What hopes are mine in right of 
birth ? " 

And yet sometimes at former faith I wonder, 

And fears I once defied I now sink under. 



XXL SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 367 

Lord, rid me of this natural waywardness, 
Unworthy one who is a child of Thine ; 

Calm let me be when rudest winds distress, 
Nor lose occasion if the day be fine ; 

But faithful to the light of sacred reason, 

One heart be mine in every changing season. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



SATURDAY 

THAT which we dare invoke to bless ; 
Our dearest faith ; our ghastliest doubt ; 
He, They, One, All; within, without; 
The Power in darkness Whom we guess ; 

I found Him not in world or sun. 

Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye ; 

Nor thro' the questions men may try, 
The petty cobwebs we have spun : 

If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, 
I heard a voice " believe no more " 
And heard an ever-breaking shore 

That tumbled in the Godless deep ; 

A warmth within the breast would melt 
The freezing reason's colder part, 
And like a man in wrath the heart 

Stood up and answer'd " I have felt." 

No, like a child in doubt and fear : 
But that blind clamour made me wise ; 
Then was I as a child that cries. 

But, crying, knows his father near ; 



368 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

And what I am beheld again 

What is, and no man understands ; 
And out of darkness came the hands 

That reach thro' nature, moulding men. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



THE TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

" /^ O thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord Who 
VJ speaks ; 

He trod the narrow way in all its length, 
And His firm hand and all enduring strength 

Were never since denied to him who seeks. 

Go thou thy way, wherever it may lead : 

Through greenest pastures or on thorny road ; 
With gladsome heart, or bent beneath a load 

Of anxious cares, or sick with sorest need. 

The birds that wanton in the summer air 
Are vext by no forebodings, such as go 
To fret thy spirit \ but they trust, and so 

They sing to tell us of a Father's care. 

From sin's enticements see thou walk aloof; 

And if they come, to Christ for succour fly ; 

With Him thou shalt the powers of hell defy : 
The armour of His love is evil-proof. 

Let not past follies keep thy spirit sore ; 

Sin sorrowed for and conquered should impart 
A deeper wisdom and a purer heart ; 

So, go in peace, and see thou sin no more. 



XXII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 369 

Room for thy soul to grow, to rise above 
These common things of earth ? Oh, hush thy 

strife ! 
'Tis lowly work well done that makes of life 

A holy sacrifice of patient love. 

Go thou thy way until the end shall be, 
Leaving, in faith, thy fate for God to cast ; 
And so stand steadfast in thy lot at last. 

For ever in thy God, and God in thee. 

Philip Southern 



WEEK OF THE TWENTY-SECOND 
SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

LORD ! how oft shall I forgive ? 
O my soul ! dost thou not live, 
Every day, and every hour, 
On thy Father's Love, and Power ? 
Still vouchsafed thee, tho' with sin 
Days will end, as days begin ; 
Life, with all in life bestowed. 
Justly forfeit to thy God ? 

Count the pulses of thy heart, 
Search thro' memory every part ; 
All the thousand namelesc ways. 
In which God, thro' all thy days, 
Hath thy life sustain'd and blest. 
Giving thee the thing that's best ; 
Tho' alas ! that life has proved, 
All unworthy to be loved :— 

2 A 



370 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

When thou hast the sum of all 
Blessings that, uncounted, fall 
Round thy path ; the light and love. 
Waiting on thee from above, 
All by boundless Mercy brought, 
Into judgment entering not ; 
Thou some faint reply from Heav'n 
Hast, how man should be forgiven. 

John S. B. Monsell 



TUESDAY 

IN the Apocalypse sublime 
The new-created world shall see 
Eternity embracing time, 

Space swallowed in infinity. 
Each sun, each star, each heavenly orb, 
Shall one pervading light absorb. 

No temple there, for boundless Heaven 
Shall be a temple ; not a prayer 

Shall from the trembling soul be riven. 
For all shall be devotion there ; 

All day, no darkness, no eclipse, 

In that divine Apocalypse. 

This world, these cycles, mortal life 
And mortal death, are but the scene 

Of shifting, surging, struggling strife, 
The powers of ill and good between ; 

Though in that strife so rough and rude 

We see the conquering march of good. 

But in the glorious time revealed 

Each form of ill shall fade and fall ; 
And every, every wound be healed. 



XXII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 371 

And God, our God be all in all — 
All light, all love, all God, all good, 
All infinite beatitude. 

Sir John Bowring 



WEDNESDAY 

AND though some impious wits do questions 
move. 
And doubt if souls immortal be, or no ; 
That doubt their immortality doth prove, 
Because they seem immortal things to know. 

For he who reasons on both parts doth bring. 
Doth some things mortal, some immortal call ; 

Now, if himself were but a mortal thing. 
He could not judge immortal things at all. 

For when we judge, our minds we mirrors make ; 

And as those glasses which material be, 
Forms of material things do only take ; 

For thoughts or minds in them we cannot see ; 

So when we God and Angels do conceive, 
And think of truth, which is eternal too ; 

Then do our minds immortal forms receive, 
Which, if they mortal were, they could not do. 

And as if beasts conceiv'd what reason were, 
And that conception should distinctly show. 

They should the name of reasonable bear ; 
For, without reason, none could reason know: 

So when the soul mounts with so high a wing. 
As of eternal things she doubts can move ! 



372 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

She proofs of her eternity doth bring, 

E'en when she strives the contrary to prove. 

For e'en the thought of immortaUty, 

Being an act done, without the body's aid, 

Shows that herself alone could move and be, 
Although the body in the grave were laid. 

Sir John Davies 



THURSDAY 

OGOD, Whose thunder shakes the sky. 
Whose eye this atom globe surveys, 
To Thee, my only rock, I fly. 
Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. 

The mystic mazes of Thy will, — 
The shadows of celestial light, — 

Are past the power of human skill, 
But what the Eternal acts is right. 

Oh, teach me in the trying hour 
When anguish swells the dewy tear, 

To still my sorrows, own Thy power. 
Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear. 

If in this bosom aught but Thee 

Encroaching sought a boundless sway. 

Omniscience could the danger see. 
And mercy look the cause away. 

Then why, my soul, dost thou complain ? 

Why drooping seek the dark recess ? 
Shake off the melancholy chain, 

For God created all to bless. 



XXIT. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 373 

The gloomy mantle of the night, 
Which on my sinking spirit steals, 

Will vanish at the morning light, 

Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals. 

Thomas Chatterton 



FRIDAY 

OH, bright and happy Olivet, 
Where once the Master trod, 
From whence He first went up on high- 
True Man and Very God. 

Incarnate Christ in human flesh, 

We wait till Thou appear. 
With glory crowned, and saints around 

Caught up in joy and fear. 

Oh, bright and happy Olivet, 
Once more shalt Thou behold 

The blessed form of God's own Son, 
As by those Angels told. 

And then shall David's throne be set. 

And Israel too shall be 
Amid the happy throng that shall 

The true Messiah see. 

Oh, bright and happy Olivet, 
How glad that day and fair, 

When Jew and Gentile in accord 
His love shall then declare. 

For when He comes, they shall return 

With joy upon their head. 
For Israel shall accepted be 

As living from the dead ! 



374 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh, bright and happy Olivet, 

The time now draweth near 
When Israel, God's beloved, shall know 

Contrition's sweetest tear. 

For Christ shall come to earth again, 

His scattered flock to save ; 
And on the throne of David reign, 

Victorious o'er the grave. 

Tom L. Brown 



SATURDAY 

/CONTEMPLATE all this work of Time, 
v-/ The giant labouring in his youth ; 
Nor dream of human love and truth, 
As dying Nature's earth and lime ; 

But trust that those we call the dead 
Are breathers of an ampler day 
For ever nobler ends. They say, 

The solid earth whereon we tread 

In tracts of fluent heat began. 

And grew to seeming-random forms, 
The seeming prey of cyclic storms, 

Till at the last arose the man ; 

Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime, 

The herald of a higher race, 

And of himself in higher place, 
If so he type this work of time 

Within himself, from more to more ; 
Or, crown'd with attributes of woe 
Like glories, move his course, and show 

That life is not as idle ore. 



XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 375 

But iron dug from central gloom, 
And heated hot with burning fears, 
And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 

And batter'd with the shocks of doom 

To shape and use. Arise and fly 
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ; 
Move upward, working out the beast, 

And let the ape and tiger die. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



THE TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

WHEN across the inward thought 
Comes the emptiness of life, 
And it seems that earth has nought 
But a vain and weary strife : 

All to do, and nothing done, 

Useless days fast fleeting by, 
Wanderings many, progress none, 

Faltering steps by fountains dry, 

Shall we, in that hapless mood, 

Fainting fall beside the way ? 
Help us. Giver of all good ! 

Teach Thy wretched ones to pray. 

Thou that with the Father art. 

One in power, in glory One, 
Yet within the trusting heart 

Bearest witness with the Son : 



376 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh, forgive our faithless mind, 
Raise us from our low estate, 

Breathe in us the will to find 
Higher life in small and great ! 

Give us watchful eyes and clear, 
Purged from the scales of sense, 

Seeing still the Master near. 
And the City far from hence. 

Higher lead our love and faith. 

Lower our humility ; 
Let the words that Jesus saith 

Be illumined all by Thee ! 

And in them let us discern. 
Calming all our sinful strife, 

While our hearts within us burn, 

Him, the Word, the Truth, the Life ! 

H. G. TOMKINS 



WEEK OF THE TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

HOW should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should 
my rhymes 
Gladly engrave Thy love in steel, 
If what my soul doth feel sometimes, 
My soul might ever feel ! 

Although there were some forty heavens, or more, 
Sometimes I peer above them all ; 



XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 377 

Sometimes I hardly reach a score, 
Sometimes to hell I fall. 

O rack me not to such a vast extent ; 
Those distances belong to Thee : 
The world's too little for Thy tent, 
A grave too big for me. 

Wilt Thou meet arms with man, that Thou dost 
stretch 
A crumb of dust from heaven to hell ? 
Will great God measure with a wretch ? 
Shall he Thy stature spell ? 

O let me, when Thy roof my soul hath hid, 
O let me roost and nestle there : 
Then of a sinner Thou art rid, 
And I of hope and fear. 

Yet take Thy way ; for sure Thy way is best 
Stretch or contract me Thy poor debtor : 
This is but tuning of my breast, 
To make the music better. 

Whether I fly with Angels, fall with dust. 
Thy hands made both, and I am there. 
Thy power and love, my love and trust, 
Make one place everywhere. 

George Herbert 



TUESDAY 

YOU say, but with no touch of scorn, 
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue 
eyes 
Are tender over drowning flies 
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. 



378 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

I know not : one indeed I knew 
In many a subtle question versed, 
Wtio touch'd a jarring lyre at first, 

But ever strove to make it true : 

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, 
At last he beat his music out. 
There lives more faith in honest doubt. 

Believe me, than in half the creeds. 

He fought his doubts and gather'd strength. 
He would not make his judgment blind. 
He faced the spectres of the mind 

And laid them : thus he came at length 

To find a stronger faith his own ; 

And Power was with him in the night. 
Which makes the darkness and the light, 

And dwells not in the light alone, 

But in the darkness and the cloud, 
As over Sinai's peaks of old. 
While Israel made their gods of gold, 

Altho' the trumpet blew so loud. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



WEDNESDAY 

SPIRIT Divine ! attend our prayers. 
And make our hearts Thy home : 
Descend with all Thy gracious powers 
O come, great Spirit, come ! 

Come as the light — to us reveal 

Our emptiness and woe ; 
And lead us in those paths of hfe 

Where all the righteous go. 



XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 379 

Come as the fire — and purge our hearts 

Like sacrificial flame ; 
Let our whole soul an offering be 

To our Redeemer's name. 

Come as the dew — and sweetly bless 

This consecrated hour ; 
May barrenness rejoice to own 

Thy fertilizing power. 

Come as the dove— and spread Thy wings, 

The wings of peaceful love ; 
And let thy Church on earth become 

Blest as the Church above. 

Come as the wind — with rushing sound 

And Pentecostal grace ; 
That all of women born may see 

The glory of Thy face. 

Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers, 
Make this lost world Thy home ; 

Descend with all Thy gracious powers ; 
O come, great Spirit, come ! 

Andrew Reed 



THURSDAY 

THAT early love of creatures, yet unmade. 
To frame the world the Almighty did per- 
suade : 
For love it was that first created light. 
Moved on the waters, chased away the night 
From the rude chaos, and bestowed new grace 
On things disposed of to their proper place. 



380 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Some to rest here, and some to shine above : 
Earth, sea, and heaven, were all th' effects of 

love. 
And love would be returned but there was none 
That to themselves or others yet were known. 
The world a palace was without a guest, 
Till one appears that must excel the rest ; 
One like the Author, whose capacious mind 
Might by the glorious work the Maker find ; 
Might measure heaven, and give each star a 

name, 
With art and courage the rough ocean tame ; 
Over the globe with swelling sails might go. 
And that 'tis round by his experience know ; 
Make strongest beasts obedient to his will, 
And serve his use the fertile earth to till. 
When by His word God had accomplished all, 
Man to create He did a council call : 
Employed His hand to give the dust He took 
A graceful figure and majestic look ; 
With His own breath conveyed into his breast 
Life and a soul fit to command the rest ; 
Worthy alone to celebrate His name 
For such a gift, and tell from whence it came. 
Birds sing His praises in a wilder note, 
But not with lasting numbers, and with thought — 
Man's great prerogative. 

Edmund Waller 



FRIDAY 

IF thou art one whose cry is Liberty, 
Pass not the portal of our hallow'd shrine ; 
We in a holier freedom would be free. 

If thou in wealth or honour lov'st to shine, 



XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 381 

To build in cedars, or at ease recline, 
No holy awe thy tongue and foot shall hold 

In those lov'd haunts, where ancient discipline 
Keeps watch amid her treasures manifold, 
And welcomes to stern walls and dim cathedrals old. 

At her command the apostolic key 

Opens the solemn doors ; in speaking stone 

Her glories far withdraw, where none can see, 
Seeking the Infinite in secret known. 
And tell of wonders which surround His 
throne ; 

Her carv'd embroideries, which retire aloof, 
Are ancient virtues, seen by God alone 

And His good Angels, mysteries learn'd by proof. 
And prayers which hide from man o'er heaven's 
embowering roof. 

Ye cloistral shades, and Angel-haunted cells. 
Chantries, and tuneful roofs, and altars old. 

Wherein communicable Godhead dwells ! 
Let your dread spirit fill me, my hand hold, 
And every thought to your obedience mould ; 

While through the avenue of number'd years, 
As through a pillar'd vista, I behold 

Where Christ for me the bleeding burden bears, 
Till all my heart be love, and soul-constraining fears. 

Isaac Williams . 



SATURDAY 

WE do not dread the darkest night, 
If we but know the path we tread ; 
The longest way is smooth and light, 
If home beyond us lift its head. 



382 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Oh ! turn not in the hours of sin 

The thoughts of sinners to the grave : 

Where proffer'd love may fail to win, 
Oh ! deem not terror strong to save ! 

But when the cares of earth molest, 
Her rosy wreaths to fade begin, 

Point to your own unruffled breast, 
And tell them of the sweets within. 

Persuade them how each pilgrim hour 
Is brightened by a Saviour's love ; 

How longs the soul like summer flower 
To view unveiled His face above. 

Bid them expect, as some dear friend, 
The hour that calls their soul away ; 

And death with holier thoughts to blend. 
Than the dark grave or cold decay. 

Away with these — away with fear, 

That deadly fear, which sinners know ; 

Then, fairer is the placid bier 

Than all the joys possessed below. 

W. Sewell 



THE TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

JAIRUS knew it now ! 
To his fond cries no breath of answer 
came ; 
Cold was his darling's brow, 
And never a pulse moved in her silent frame. 



XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 383 

Therefore with many a tear 
They bade the Saviour draw no longer near, 
And, when He questioned if the soul were fled, 
Laughed with a bitter laugh, knowing the maid 
was dead. 

But still He sought the child 
And, dreading only lest by unbelief 

Their hearts might be beguiled, 
Put each one forth, who aired fictitious grief, 

And, taking with Him those. 
Who nournished faith and her divine repose, 
Called to the damsel's heedless form : — Arise I 
And she arose with recognition in her eyes. 

Behold again to-day 
The Pastor fills Jairus' mournful part ! 

For oft his children stray 
From healthful pathsand, though with loving art 

He calls them back, no word 
Responsive comes, and they, who so have 

erred. 
Wander past hope ; their spirit's life is fled, 
And heavy is his heart, knowing their souls are 
dead. 

But, though his toil is vain, 
Christ, Who of old baffled the hungry tomb, 

Can rend the Devil's chain, 
And, rescuing his victims from their doom, 

Win them to righteousness. 
O pray we then our Lord to come and bless 
Each lost and guilty soul with second birth 
And rouse a grateful joy within the Church on 
earth ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



384 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH 
SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHO loves not knowledge ? Who shall rail 
Against her beauty ? May she mix 
With men and prosper ! Who shall fix 
Her pillars ? I^et her work prevail. 

But on her forehead sits a fire : 

She sets her forward countenance 
And leaps into the future chance, 

Submitting all things to desire. 

Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain — 
She cannot fight the fear of death. 
What is she, cut from love and faith, 

But some wild Pallas from the brain 

Of Demons ? fiery-hot to burst 

All barriers in her onward race 

For power. Let her know her place ; 

She is the second, not the first. 

A higher hand must make her mild 
If all be not in vain ; and guide 
Her footsteps, moving side by side 

With wisdom, like the younger child : 

For she is earthly of the mind, 

But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. 
O, friend, who camest to thy goal 

So early, leaving me behind, 



XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 385 

I would the great world grew like thee, 
Who grewest not alone in power 
And knowledge, but by year and hour 

In reverence and in charity. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



TUESDAY 

O SACRED Providence, Who from end to end 
Strongly and sweetly movest ! shall I write 
And not of Thee, through Whom my fingers bend 
To hold my quill ? shall they not do Thee right ? 

Of all the creatures both in sea and land 
Only to man Thou hast made known Thy ways, 
And put the pen alone into his hand, 
And made him secretary of Thy praise. 

Man is the world's high priest : he doth present 

The sacrifice for all ; while they below 

Unto the service mutter an assent. 

Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow. 

He that to praise and laud Thee doth refrain, 
Doth not refrain unto himself alone. 
But robs a thousand who would praise Thee fain. 
And doth commit a world of sin in one. 

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present 
For me and all my fellows praise to Thee : 
And just it is that I should pay the rent. 
Because the benefit accrues to me. 

Thou art in small things great, nor small in any, 
Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. 
2 B 



386 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou art in all things one, in each thing many : 
For Thou art infinite in one and all. 

George Herbert 



WEDNESDAY 

WHEN man to Godlike being sprung, 
How sweet the glorious gift he found ! 
While Heaven with notes of gladness rung, 

And Eden's beauty smiled around : 
Where'er the stranger bends his view, 
'Tis wondrous all, divinely new. 

By hands unseen the virgin soil 

Is with unlaboured plenty crowned ; 

But soon must Adam bow to toil, 

And dress the late spontaneous ground : 

For oh ! too soon the thorn appears — 

Too soon he blends his bread with tears. 

E'en thus when man is born anew, 

The Spirit to his being given, 
Lo ! a new Eden starts to view. 

While Angel harps rejoice in Heaven : 
'Tis wondrous all, divinely bright, 
And the new creature walks in light. 

Then, too, the heart's unlaboured soil 
Is with mysterious plenty crowned ; 

But soon he finds 'lis meet to toil. 

And dress with tears the wayward ground : 

Too soon, alas ! the thorn appears. 

And Heaven's own bread is mixed with tears. 



XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 387 

Yet onward, is no scene displayed 

Whose bright beginnings ne'er decay ? 

Must every prospect seem to fade ? 

Must clouds o'ercast the new-born day ? 

Forth let the new creation burst, — 

No changes then, all clouds dispersed. 

No thorns that paradise infest — 

No bitter tears its feast-days leaven — 

No toils disturb its hallowed rest : 

Unlaboured plenty lasts in Heaven : 

Then, oh ! let faith, let patience here, 

With hope unmurmuring, persevere. 

Thomas Grinfield 



THURSDAY 

FALL not out upon the way ; 
Short it is, and soon will end ; 
Better far to fly the fray. 

Than to lose the friend. 

Christ hath sent you, two and two. 
With a mandate to return : 
Can ye meet the Master's view. 
If with wrath ye burn ? 

If thy brother seemeth slow, 
Jeer not, but thy quickness slack ; 
Rather than divided go. 

Keep the wearier track. 

Quit not, as for shorter line. 
Ancient ways together trod ; 
Joy to read at once the sign 
Pointing on to God. 



388 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Teach each other, as ye walk, 
How to sing the Angels' song ; 
Fill the time with homeward talk, 
Then 'twill not be long. 

Gently deal with those who roam, 
Silent as to wanderings past ; 
So, together at your home 
All arrive at last. 

Lord Kinloch 



FRIDAY 

A THOUSAND oracles divine 
Their common beams unite ; 
That sinners may with Angels join 
To worship God aright : 

To praise a Trinity adored 

By all the hosts above ; 
And one thrice-holy God and Lord 

Through endless ages love. 

Triumphant host ! they never cease 

To laud and magnify 
The triune God of holiness, 

Whose glory fills the sky ; 

Whose glory to this earth extends. 
When God Himself imparts 

And the whole Trinity descends 
Into our faithful hearts. 

By faith the choirs above we meet ; 

And challenge them to sing 
Jehovah, on His curtain'd seat. 

Our Maker and our King. 



XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 389 

But God made flesh is wholly ours, 

And asks eur nobler strain ; 
The Father of celestial powers, 

The Friend of earth-born man. 

Ye Seraphs, nearest to the Throne 

All rapt in deep amaze, 
On us, still exiles here, look down 

And join us in your praise. 

The King, Whose glorious face ye see. 

For us His crown resigned ; 
Yea, Fulness of the Deity, 

He died for all mankind. 

Charles Wesley 



SATURDAY 

THE waves, the winds of Circumstance ! 
What arm their strength can stem ? 
What struggling mortal has a chance 

To bind or buffet them ? 
Against these rapids, who can swim, 

And not be hurled away 
Over Niagara's boiling brim. 
The torrent of to-day ? 

Ah ! trust not, man, to thine own strength ; 

Ah ! boast not of thy power ; 
Thy best, in all its breadth and length. 

Will break in any hour. 
Let but Temptation touch the Hne 

Electrical within. 
That spark will spring the secret mine 

Of nature's ready sin ! 



390 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

If some sun-chance, and some moon-change 

Of passion's light and heat, 
Within Occasion's comet-range, 

By bad conjunction meet, 
Behold, a deluge ! to o'erwhelm 

The wisdom and the worth 
Of mortal's noblest spirit-realm, 

The pattern-man of earth ! 

O tower of strength ! O God, O Friend ! 

Defend us by Thy power; 
Till we have reached our trial's end, 

Uphold us every hour ! 
Each step we venture in advance 

Is full of woes unknown. 
If Thou enfranchise Circumstance, 

And leave us all alone ! 

Martin F. Tupper 



THE TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER 
TRINITY 

YE heavens, oh haste your dews to shed, 
Ye clouds, rain gladness on our head. 
Thou earth, behold the time of grace. 
And blossom forth in righteousness. 

O living Sun, with joy break forth. 
And pierce the gloomy clefts of earth ; 
Behold, the mountains melt away 
Like wax beneath Thine ardent ray ! 

O Life-dew of the Churches, come, 
And bid this arid desert bloom ! 



XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 391 

The sorrows of Thy people see, 
And take our human flesh on Thee. 

Refresh the parch'd and drooping mind, 
The broken Hmb in mercy bind ; 
Us sinners from our guilt release. 
And fill us with Thy heavenly peace. 

O wonder ! night no more is night ! 
Comes then at last the long'd-for light ? 
Ah yes, Thou shinest, O true Sun, 
In Whom are God and man made one ! 

Lyra Germanica 



WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY 
AFTER TRINITY 

MONDAY 

WHEREFORE shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain ; 
In their hour hell-powers must reign ; 
Vainly, vainly would we force 
Fatal error's torrent course ; 
Earth is mighty, we are frail ; 
Faith is gone and hope must fail." 

Yet along the Church's sky 
Stars are scattered pure and high ; 
Yet her wasted gardens bear 
Autumn violets sweet and rare — 
Relics of a spring-time clear. 
Earnest of a bright new year. 



392 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Israel yet hath thousands sealed, 
Who to Baal never kneeled ; 
Seize the banner, spread its fold! 
Seize it with no faltering hold ! 
Spread its foldings high and fair; 
Let all see the Cross is there ! 

What, if to the trumpet's sound 
Voices few come answering round ? 
Scarce a votary swell the burst 
When the anthem peals at first ? 
God hath sown, and He will reap ; 
Growth is slow when roots are deep ; 

He will aid the work begun, 
For the love of His dear Son ; 
He will breathe in their true breath 
Who, serene in prayer and faith. 
Would our dying embers fan. 
Bright as when their glow began. 

Lyra Apostolica 



TUESDAY 

WATCHER, who watch'st by the bed of pain, 
While the stars sweep on in their midnight 
train ; 
Stifling the tear for thy loved one's sake ; 
Holding thy breath, lest his sleep should break ; 
In thy loneliest hours, there is a helper nigh, 
" Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Stranger, afar from thy native land, 
Whom no one takes with a brother's hand. 
Table and hearthstone are glowing free. 
Casements are sparkling, but not for thee ; 



XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 393 

There is One Who can tell of a home on high, 
" Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Sad one, in secret, bending low, 

A dart in thy breast, that the world may not know. 

Striving the favour of God to win, — 

Asking His pardon for days of sin ; 

Press on, press on, with thy earnest cry 

"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Mourner who sitt'st in the churchyard lone. 
Scanning the lines on that marble stone, — 
Plucking the weeds from thy children's bed, 
Planting the myrtle, the rose instead — 
Look up, look up, with thy tearful eye, 

" Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Fading one, with the hectic streak. 
With thy vein of fire, and thy burning cheek, 
Fear'st thou to tread the darkened vale ? 
Look unto One, Who can never fail. 
He hath trod it Himself, He will hear thy sigh, 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Lydia Huntley Sigourney 



WEDNESDAY 

YEA, watch and wait a little while — 
The weary strife is ending ; 
Yet hold the red-cross banner fast. 

While hope and fear are blending. 
Sure pledge of victory, though it wave 
O'er many a lov'd disciple's grave. 



394 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

A little while, a little while, 
And ye shall see it streaming 

From north to south, from east to west. 
Like lightning flash, far gleaming, 

Sign of the Son of Man in Heaven, 

Pledge of His instant advent given ! 

Then, cheerly, brethren, watch and pray. 
Though tempest gloom have shrouded 

Full many a star that brightly shone, 
And yet shall shine unclouded. 

Jerusalem, with robe of light 

And starry crown, shall yet be bright. 

For deem ye not, oh, deem ye not, 
The holy Church forsaken — 

Or built upon th' eternal rock, 
Her sure foundation shaken ; 

Nay, for the word can never fail, 

" The gates of hell shall not prevail." 

Jane E. Leeson 



THURSDAY 

OF God, to thy doings, a time there is sent. 
Which endeth with time that in doing is 
spent ; 
For time is itself, but a time for a time. 
Forgotten full soon, as the time of a chime. 

In springtime we rear, we do sow, and we plant ; 
In summer get victuals, lest after we want ; 
In harvest we carry in corn, and the fruit. 
In winter to spend, as we need of each suit. 



XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 395 

The year I compare, as I find for a truth, 
The Spring unto Childhood, the Summer to Youth, 
The Harvest to Manhood, the Winter to Age, 
All quickly forgot as a play on a stage. 

Time past is forgotten, ere men be aware ; 
Time present is thought on, with wonderful care ; 
Time coming is feared, and therefore we save, 
Yet oft ere it come we be gone to the grave. 

The lands and the riches that here we possess 
Be none of our own, if a God we profess ; 
But lent us of Him, as His talent of gold. 
Which being demanded, who can it withhold ? 

God maketh no writing, that justly doth say. 
How long we shall have it, — a year or a day ; 
But leave it we must (howsoever we leave), 
When Atrop shall pluck us from hence by the 
sleeve. 

To Death we must stoop, be we high, be we low. 
But how and how suddenly, few be that know ; 
What carry we then but a sheet to the grave 
To cover this carcass, of all that we have ? 

Thomas Tusser 



FRIDAY 

OH yet we trust that somehow good. 
Will be the final goal of ill. 
To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 



396 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

That nothing walks with aimless feet ; 

That not one life shall be destroyed, 

Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
When God hath made the pile complete ; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 

That not a moth with vain desire 

Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire, 
Or but subserves another's gain. 

Behold, we know not anything ; 

I can but trust that good shall fall 

At last — far off — at last, to all. 
And every winter change to spring. 

So runs my dream : but what am I ? 

An infant crying in the night : 

An infant crying for the light : 
And with no language but a cry. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



SATURDAY 

THE wish, that of the living whole 
No life may fail beyond the grave, 
Derives it not from what we have 
The likest God within the soul ? 

Are God and Nature then at strife, 
That Nature lends such evil dreams ? 
So careful of the type she seems, 

So careless of the single life ; 

That I, considering everywhere 
Her secret meaning in her deeds. 



ST ANDREW 397 

And finding that of fifty seeds 
She often brings but one to bear, 

I falter where I firmly trod, 
And falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world's altar-stairs 

That slope thro' darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, 
And gather dust and chaff, and call 
To what I feel is Lord of all, 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson 



ST ANDREW 

OH that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep, 
I might behold that Galilean deep. 
Sun-gilded waves, and hill-embosom'd strand, 
Where Andrew dwelt with his fraternal band — 
Andrew, who saw and heard the living Word, 
And came, and then brought Peter to the Lord- 
Andrew, next added to that favour'd three. 
Schooled in Christ's lore upon their native sea. 

Blest sight ! to see those heights which round 

them clos'd, 
When holy eyes on their dark shapes reposed ; 
To watch those gales which came upon the deep, 
When in that hold their Lord was laid asleep ; 
To see those rocks where dwelt their thoughts of 

home. 
And 'neath that glowing firmament to roam ; 
Move on the sea they moved, and there behold 
The moon and stars which they beheld of old ! 



398 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But ah ! far more, when death hath closed mine 

eyes 
Might I but see beyond those eastern skies 
By Andrew led, where, round our Saviour's feet, 
The holy twelve in sweet communion meet 
In their last haven on that stable shore. 
Beside that crystal sea for evermore ! 

Isaac Williams 



ST THOMAS 

BLESSED were they who, in the days of old, 
Saw the Lord's face, and Hstened to His 
word ; 
More blessed they. His gentle voice has told, 
Who never saw, and yet believe their Lord. 

" Except I look upon the risen dead, 

And lay my finger where the nails ran thro', 

And touch His wounded side," Saint Thomas said, 
"Your words are wild, I will not hold them 
true." 

On those eleven, met to pray and watch. 

The last red sunbeam flung a twilight gloom, 

No foot has stirred, no hand has raised the latch,— 
There stood Another in the lowly room. 

" Look on My hands, O faithless heart ! " He cried, 
" Behold the prints of cruel nails are here. 

Put forth thy finger now and touch My side. 
There deeply drank the Roman's hated spear." 



THE CONVERSION OF ST PAUL 399 

No more th' Apostle's doubtful soul is dim, 
Bursts from his quivering lip the cry of faith, 

" My Lord, my God " ; henceforth content for Him 
To bear the life of scorn, the martyr's death. 

And dear to us that word, in later day 

Who hold, in faith, the things we might not 
see ; — 
" Thou seeing hast believed ; more blest are they 
Who have not seen, yet have believed on Me." 
Cecil Francis Alexander 



THE CONVERSION OF ST PAUL 

THE Will Divine that woke a waiting time, 
With desert cry and Calvary's Cross sublime, 
Had equal need on thee its power to prove, 
Thou soul of passionate zeal and tenderest love ! 

O slave devout of burdening Hebrew school. 
Proud to fulfil each time-exalted rule. 
How broke the illusion of thy swelling wrath 
On that meek front of calm, enduring faith ! 

Then flashed it on thy spirit mightily 
That thou hadst spurned a love that died for thee ! 
And all the pride went down in whelming flood 
Of boundless shame and boundless gratitude. 

What large atonement that great conscience pays ! 
For every wounding slight, a psalm of praise ; 
Unending worship shall the debt consume ; 
For hours of rage, a life of martyrdom. 



400 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Yet in such morning glow, such vital day, 
What chilling sense of claim or debt can stay? 
O wondrous power of noble love, to free 
From binding Law to glorious Liberty ! 

Dream not that one hath drained the exhaustless sea. 
Full pours the tide in widening stream for thee ; 
Lift for new hberties that conquering sign ; 
Shatter the severing walls with touch divine ! 

Samuel Johnson 



THE PRESENTATION OF CHRIST IN 
THE TEMPLE 

JERUSALEM, why are thy voices dumb? 
Where, Sons of Jacob, are your notes of glee ? 
Behold ! the Lord God, Whom ye seek, doth come 
To-day unto His Temple suddenly. 

Where stand the Levite bands their King to 
greet ? 

What waiting guards attend upon His state ? — 
One lowly Virgin beareth up the street 

Her first-born Son unto thy temple gate. 

Her forty days of loneUness are o'er ; 

What present doth the virgin Mother bring ? 
The two young pigeons from her scanty store, 

And Him, the full sufficient Offering. 

Haply, to-day, with pomp and proffered gold. 
Young noble mothers sought the holy dome. 



ST MATTHIAS 40* 

Paid the full price that Moses bade of old, 
And bore their ransomed treasures proudly 
home; 

But not for them the Prophet's eye, grown dim 
With watchful years, lit up in ecstasy ; 

Nor aged Anna looked in them for Him, 
Whom she had served so long, so patiently. 

And when resistless broke the glowing word, 
" Now let Thy servant die, my work is done ; 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the Lord ; " 
The Prophet looked upon the Virgin's Son. 

He was the perfect Sacrifice, foreshown 
By shadowy type of old, and symbol high ; 

The First-born of unnumbered Sons, alone 
In Him accepted, and in Him brought nigh. 

No treasured gold shall buy Him back again. 
Self-offered gift to shrive a whole world's sin ; 

Open thy gates ; the Victim and His train 

Draw near ; the Virgin bears her First-born in. 
Cecil Frances Alexander 



ST MATTHIAS 

PRIESTS of the Lord— let Judas warn them 
well. 
Lest in some heart a secret germ may hide 
Of that which hurl'd him to the lowest hell. 
At once a traitor and a suicide ! 

If lucre-dreams, not love for souls, inspire 
The impious mocker, who presumes to say 
2 c 



402 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

" Come, Holy Ghost ; and with celestial fire 
Purge the vile dross of sin and self away," 

Alas for him ! but grace and truth are Thine, 
And through the channels of Thy Church can 
flow; 

The hands are human, but the gifts divine, 
Which all their virtue to Thy merit owe — 

Who art of sacraments the vital spring, 
Their viewless Source of purity and power 

When souls their sacrifice of worship bring 
And throng Thy Temple in devotion's hour. 

Nor should false worldlings in their pride forget. 
If lust of income o'er the conscience reign. 

Some heart of Judas may be throbbing yet. 
And act, in principle, his crime again ! 

And, Lord of souls, let faithful shepherds feed 
The flock committed unto past'ral care, 

Not lured by gain, but finding all their meed 
When Glory's fold shall see true converts there. 

Robert Montgomery 



THE ANNUNCIATION OF THE BLESSED 
VIRGIN MARY 

T O, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on 
y^ high. 

Searched out reposeful Nazareth and saw 
The espoused Bride of Joseph ; and his eye 

Was filled with wonder and a reverent awe. 



THE ANNUNCIATION 403 

As thus he spake: — "O Mary, hear God's law 
On thy behalf, thou Virgin full of grace I 

The Holy Spirit from above shall draw 
His Presence o'er thee, and thou shalt embrace 
A Son, the Word of God, come to redeem thy 

race ! " 

As when a shower flies glooming o'er the Spring, 
Blurring the cheerful gladness of the day. 

So do these words of sudden marvel fling 
Across that gentle heart a quick dismay, 
And to herself she thus began to say : — 

"Ah, how can I break ofl" my cherished schemes 
Of homely innocence, and find my way 

Perchance through paths, where evil surmise 
teems, 
To that bewildering height beyond all human 
dreams ? " 

But, as the vernal drops make haste to fly, 

Leaving the landscape brighter than before. 
So Mary's troubled thoughts passed swiftly by, 
And left her dowered with new celestial lore. 
"Yea, now," she said, " my spirit can adore 
God's blest decree ; for, though as 'twere a 
sword 
Pierced through my being, when He bade 
me soar. 
Yet will my Father in His love afford 
The needful strength ! Behold the handmaid of 
the Lord ! " 

Yea, she alone of mortals in the earth 

Can on this wondrous eminence be placed. 

Tell out in every age her peerless worth, 
By majesty and utter meekness graced ! 



404 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

But, though none other child of Adam taste 
Her cup of bliss, be sure, my soul, that thou 
Hast some high destiny before thee traced. 
Therefore, like Mary, swift obedience vow ; 
Break wnth the entangling world and Heavenward 
lift thy brow ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



ST MARK 

MEEK to suffer, strong to save, 
From the chambers of the grave 
Christ the steep ascent hath trod, 
Up to the right hand of God. 

With all power invested, thence 
He His Spirit doth dispense. 
To His faithful people still, 
Quickening whomso'er He will. 

Some apostles, prophets some. 
At His gracious bidding come ; 
Pastors, teachers still He sends 
To His children and His friends ; 

For the help of those who faint. 
For the strengthening of the saint ; 
That the Church increased may be. 
For the body's ministry : 

Till, in unity and love, 
Faith and hope in Hirn above. 
To the measure and the span 
Come we of a perfect man ; 



ST PHILIP AND ST JAMES 405 

Be no longer to and fro 
Toss'd by all the winds that blow ; 
Keep the truth, nor let it slip ; 
Keep the Christian fellowship. 

By no cunning sleight enticed 
From our perfect trust in Christ ; 
Close, compact in joint and limb 
May we all grow up in Him. 

John Moultrie 



ST PHILIP AND ST JAMES 

THOU art the Way ! 
All ways are thorny mazes without Thee ; 
Where hearts are pierced, and thoughts all 
aimless stray : 
In Thee the heart stands firm, the life moves free ; 
Thou art our Way. 

Thou art the Truth ! 
Questions the ages break against in vain 

Confront the spirit in its untried youth ; 
It starves, while sifting poison from the grain : 

Thou art the Truth ! 

Thou art the Light ! 
Earth beyond earth no faintest ray can give ; 

Heaven's shadeless noontide blinds our mortal 
sight ; 
In Thee we look on God, and love, and live : 

Thou art our Light ! 



4o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Thou art the Rock ! 
Doubts none can solve heave wild on every side, 

Wave meeting wave of thought in ceaseless 
shock ; 
On Thee the soul rests calm amidst the tide : 

Thou art our Rock ! 

Thou art the Life ! 
All ways without Thee paths that end in death ; 

All life without Thee with death harvest rife ; 
All truths dry bones, disjoined, and void of breath : 

Thou art our Life ! 

For Thou art Love ! 
Our Way and End ! the way is rest with Thee ! 

O living Truth, the truth is life in Thee ! 
O Life essential, life is bliss with Thee ! 

For Thou art Love ! 

Elizabeth Rundle Charles 



ST BARNABAS 

CROWNED with immortal jubilee 
This day, thy soul set free, 
From earth to Heaven thou didst pass, 
O holy Barnabas, 

He, for Whose sake, at Whose dear call, 

Thou gavest up thine all : 
He shall thine all, thy treasure be 

Lasting eternally. 

'Mid fasting, prayer, and holy hands, 
Lo ! 'mid the saints he stands, 



ST JOHN THE BAPTIST 407 

The Spirit's high behest to bear, 
Christ's Heav'n-sent messenger. 

Thou hast with Paul in labours stood, 

Blest bond of brotherhood ! 
One, in the mandate sent from high ; 

And one, in charity. 

To what barbaric shores away 

Did ye that light convey, 
When from God's chosen race ye turn'd, 

Who faith's glad message spurn'd ? 

Lord, when to us an offer'd Guest 

Shall come that Spirit blest, 
Let not our hearts Heaven's bounty slight 

Deeming our darkness light. 

Isaac Williams 



ST JOHN THE BAPTIST 

THIS day the Church commemorates 
The birthday of St John ; 
Except our Lord's Nativity, 
She keeps this only one. 

As if to lift our earth-bound hearts, 

Above the things which are ; 
And teach, how death-days, when in Christ, 

Are brighter days by far. 

And by the side of Him, Whose Birth, 
Like morning star, arose ^ 



4o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

To light the way, of breaking day, 
That on the mountains glows ; 



She, in the lessons of her truth, 
To teach us " what is good," 

Contrasts another Birthday, kept 
In shame, and lust, and blood. 

O Saviour, when this day returns. 
Bright with its summer bloom, — 

And, on St John's Nativity, 
Points to his early tomb : 

Be this its holy use, to make 

The Birthdays of each year, 
Tho' dear, for all their human joy, 

As helps to Heav'n, most dear. 

The Baptist's pure and holy life. 

Severe from early youth ; 
His bold rebuke of haughty vice. 

His patience for " the truth " : 

His preparation of Thy way. 

His living in Thy Love : 
His brief, but hard and toilsome day, 

His early rest above : 

Be these our Birthday monitors, 
Our souls, for Heaven to train ; 

Teaching us how " to live is Christ," 
And how " to die is gain." 

John S. B. Monsell 



ST PETER 409 



ST PETER 

WHAT tears are these that flow so fast ? 
The cock hath crowed for coming dawn, 
Twice hath he crowed ; the night is past ; 
With new day let new hope be born. 

It was the Lord at cock-crow came ; 

Like Moses' rod, with double stroke, 
A voice smote Simon in his shame ; 

Christ looked, — the strong man's heart was 
broke. 

He weeps, and bitter are his tears. 

As bitter as his words were base. 
As urgent as the sudden fears 

Which even love refused to face. 

O, love so false and yet so true, 

O, love so eager yet so weak. 
In these sad waters born anew 

Thy tongue shall yet in triumph speak. 

Thou livest, and the boaster dies, 

Dies with the night that wrought his shame. 
Thou livest, and these tears baptize — 

Simon, now Peter is thy name. 

A rock, upon Himself the Rock 

Christ places thee this awful day ; 
Him waves assault with direful shock, 

And cover thee with maddening spray. 

But safe art thou, for strong is He : 
Eternal Love all love will keep : 



4IO CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

The sweet shall as the bitter be ; 

Thou shalt rejoice as thou dost weep. 

Thomas Toke Lynch 



ST JAMES 

O AINT James was in the path of toil 
v3 When, " Follow me," Emmanuel said ; 
And lo, at once, the rude turmoil 

He left, to haste where Jesus led. 
What, though an aged sire remained 

Bereft of son and sympathy. 
The homage of his heart was gained — 

For He Who spoke was Deity ! 

So is it now : our daily path 

Is flower'd with blessings rich and rare, 
When duty in devotion hath 

Obey'd the voice of Conscience there : — 
Faith should not yearn for great event 

Or crisis through some wondrous change, 
But with the calm of home content 

In peace pursue Hfe's wonted range. 

Or if, like James, our hearts aspire 

In some rapt dream too high for man, 
And grow inflam'd with zealot-fire, 

O teach us. Lord, the milder plan ! — 
The " Son of Thunder " soften Thou, 

And with the balm of love allay ; 
Till the stern bigot from the brow 

In soft forbearance dies away. 

Robert Montgome^^y 



ST BARTHOLOMEW 411 



ST BARTHOLOMEW 

HOW blessed, from the bonds of sin 
And earthly fetters free, 
In singleness of heart and aim, 

Thy servant, Lord, to be ! 
The hardest toil to undertake 
With joy at Thy command, 
The meanest office to receive 
With meekness at Thy hand : 

With willing heart and longing eyes, 

To watch before Thy gate, 
Ready to run the weary race. 

To bear the heavy weight ; 
No voice of thunder to expect, 

But follow calm and still ; 
For love can easily divine 

The One Beloved's will. 

Thus may I serve Thee, gracious Lord, 

Thus ever Thine alone ; 
My soul and body given to Thee, 

The purchase Thou hast won. 
Through evil and through good report 

Still keeping by Thy side. 
By life or death, in this poor flesh 

Let Christ be magnified. 

How happily the working days 

In Thy dear service fly. 
How rapidly the closing hour, 

The time of rest, draws nigh ! 



412 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

When all the faithful gather home, 

A joyful company 
And ever where the Master is, 

Shall His bless'd servants be. 

Jane Borthwick 



ST MATTHEW 

SO Matthew left his golden gains, 
At the great Master's call ; 
His soul the love of Christ constrains 
Freely to give up all. 

The tide of life was at its flow, 

Rose higher day by day ; 
But he a higher life would know 

Than that which round him lay. 

Nor Fortune, bright with fav'ring smile, 
Can tempt him with her store ; 

Too long she did his heart beguile, 
He will be hers no more. 

To one sweet Voice his soul doth list, 

And, at its " Follow Me," 
Apostle, and Evangelist 

Henceforth for Christ is he. 

O Saviour ! when prosperity 
Makes this world hard to leave. 

And all its pomps and vanity 
Their meshes round us weave : 



ST MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS 413 

When Mammon with its subtle chain, 

Fair, because forged in gold, 
The soul, which up to Heaven would strain 

In captive thrall doth hold : 

When life with all its balmiest hours 

In sunshine round us lies ; 
And bee-like, 'mid a thousand flowers 

Fond fickle fancy flies : 

Oh grant us grace that to Thy call 

We may obedient be ; 
And, cheerfully forsaking all, 

May follow only Thee. 

John S. B. Monsell 



ST MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS 

THERE is no nigk^ in Heaven — 
In that blest world above 
Work never can bring weariness, 
For work itself is love. 

There is no mgkf in Heaven ! 

Yet nightly round each bed 
Of every Christian slumberer 

Faith hears an Angel tread. 

There is no grief in Heaven ! 

There all is " perfect day " ; 
There tears are 'mid those " former things " 

Which all " have passed away." 



414 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

There is no grief va Heaven! 

Yet Angels from on high 
Glide down on golden pinions, — 

The Christian's tears to dry. 

There is no want in Heaven ! 

The Lamb of God supplies 
Life's Tree of twelve-fold fruitage — 

Life's Spring which never dries. 

There is no want in Heaven ! 

Yet in a desert land 
The fainting Prophet was sustained 

E'en by an Angel's hand. 

There is no sin in Heaven ! 

Amid that blessed throng ; 
All-holy is their spotless robe, 

All-holy is their song. 

There is no sin in Heaven ! 

Here who from sin is free ? 
Yet Angels aid us in our strife 

For Christ's own liberty. 

There is no death in Heaven ! 

For they who gain that shore 
Have won their immortality. 

And "they can die no more." 

There is no death in Heaven ! 

But when the Christian dies 
(Made thus co-heirs with Angels), 

They waft him to the skies. 

F. M. Knollis 



SAINT SIMON AND SAINT JUDE 415 



ST LUKE 

LIFT high the song of praise 
For him whose holy pen 
Gave down the hymns of other days 
To glad the sons of men. 

Glory to God on high, 
And peace upon the earth, 
Goodwill to men be now proclaimed, 
As at the Saviour's birth. 

The Lord to magnify, 
Be hfted every voice. 
And in our God and Saviour 
Let every soul rejoice. 

With benedictions high 
Let Israel's God be praised : 
Who hath salvation's mighty horn 
Up for His people raised. 

And when around our path 
The call of Death is heard, 
Lord, let Thou us depart in peace. 
According to Thy word. 

Henry Alford 



SAINT SIMON AND SAINT JUDE 

WHAT mighty name did the whole earth adore? 
Tiberius, throned on Capri's pleasant isle ! 
His very whisper spread from shore to shore ; 
His frown was terror and his faintest smile 



4i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

Joy to a world ! Lo, pompous priests implore 
His deity — half blinded, half in guile ! 



What humble names did the whole earth despise ? 

The fishers on the Lake of Galilee ! 
Few were the noble or the rich or wise — 

Few were the poor, whose minds were purged 
and free 
To know the Almighty's liegemen and to prize 

The worth of those rough toilers on the sea ! 

Who names the Caesar now ? Why, here and there, 
A student pondering o'er a learned tome ! 

He marks the date when John began to wear 
The rough prophetic garb, but even Rome 

Has quite forgot the long foreboding care 

Wherewith she watched the tyrant's island home. 

Who names the Apostles now? Who names 
them not ? 

Their sound is gone into each distant land. 
And O how glorious is their present lot ! 

For every year revolving sees them stand 
Amid the Church's praises unforgot, 

Descried by love upon the heavenly strand ! 

Then who will murmur, if perchance his name 
Receive no portion of the world's renown ? 

With Jude and Simon seek we nobler fame : 
At the Lord's feet lay gross ambition down : 

On selfless love and duty build our claim 
And win like them an everlasting crown ! 

G. T. S. Farquhar 



ALL SAINTS' DAY 417 



ALL SAINTS' DAY 

THERE'S many a happy household band 
Brought up around one Father's knee, 
And fed by the same Mother's hand 
Through all their happy infancy ; 
But years roll on, the world is wide, 

And seas perchance and lands divide 
- The brothers that played side by side, 
The sisters loved so tenderly. 

Yet faithful still, though far apart, 

They wear their childhood's early chain ; 
Still truly thrills each kindred heart 

To other's joy, for other's pain ; 
And if one lonely pilgrim dies 
The tears fall down from many eyes, 
And still their home's old sympathies 
Will sometimes wake again. 

There is a holy household, bound 

In closer bond than ties of home 
Or kindred claim ; the wide earth round, 

Those children of One Father roam. 
Space cannot mar their unison. 
For still their hopes and joys are one, 
In town, and plain, and desert lone. 
And far isles girt with foam. 

And time, that wears each other bond, 
Breaks not that holy brotherhood ; 

The patriarchal days beyond, 

Beyond the old destroying flood, 

2 D 



4i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 

It clasps dim ages far away, 
It hold the true of every day 
Who love the Lord and choose His way, 
The faithful, wise, and good. 

Nor even death dissolves the charm 
With her cold touch so stern and chill ; 

The love that braved all other harm 

Shrinks trembling from that last worst ill, 

And men seal up the fading eye. 

They seek no more for sympathy 

From lips that cannot frame reply ; 
But saints look further still. 

For them the dead can never die. 
With them the living strive and pray ; 

Oh ! happy commune, pure and high, 
And happy all who feel its sway, 

Blest in their One Redeeming Lord, 

And blest by His own precious Word ; — 

Well may we linger to record 
Our brothers dear to-day, 

The gentle warriors bold and kind, 
With steadfast brow and solemn tone, 

The holy men of earnest mind, 

Whose prayers are mingling with our own, 

And they, for ever blest and bright, 

With robes in Christ's own Blood washed white, 

With palms in hand, and crowns of light, 
Who stand around His Throne. 

Cecil Frances Alexander 



INDEX 



Ah ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray . . . . 

Ah, what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry 

Alas ! my torments ; my distracted fears . 

All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades . 

All hail, thou night, thou day more bright 

All round the rolling world, both night and day 

All things a prophecy contain .... 

All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away 

And feel I, Death, no joy from thought of thee 

And is it so that Nature stints her praise . 

And though some impious wits do questions move 

An earnest, ardent will for good 

Arise, my soul, the morning sun 

As hart pants high for gvishing rills 

As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod 

As one who, toiling up some lofty peak 

As travellers, when the twilight's come 

A thousand oracles divine . 

Autumn has come at last ; 

Awake, glad soul ! awake 

Awake, thou wintry earth .... 

Away with sorrow's sigh .... 

Because the world might not pretend 

Behold the sun from eastern gloom arise . 

Be thou content : be still before 

Blessed Light of saints on high 

Blessed were they who, in the days of old . 

Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 

Boast of thine honours, wealth, and power 

Breezes of spring, all earth to life awaking 

Carry me, Babe, to Bethlehem now . 

Charming flowers ! your day is come 

Christ had two several wrongs to bear 

Christian, did no one, thinkest thou, behold thee 

Christ is coming ! let creation . 

Christ, Who our weak flesh didst wear 

Clearly I see ..... 

Come, Holy Spirit, from above. 

2 D* 



and Nature now 
! awake . 



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420 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



PAGE 

Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove 301 

Come, let us sound her praise abroad .... 307 
Come to our joyous marriage feast , . . . -53 

Come, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly ..... 30 

Contemplate all this work of Time 374 

Count not the days that have idly flown .... 6 

Creator Spirit, by Whose aid ...... 205 

Crowned with immortal jubilee 406 

Dark was my lot, and long it spurned .... 240 

Dayspring of Eternity S 

Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her 180 

Erst in Eden's happy garden 94 

Eternal Father ! God of peace ...... 329 

Eternal Truth, almighty, infinite 78 

Evermore their lauds the Angel hosts are singing . . 230 

Faith of our fathers ! living still 214 

Fall not out upon the way 387 

Father of nations ! what high thoughts endued . . 102 

Fear not, for He hath sworn X28 

Fire is not quench'd with fire, and wrath .... 62 

Fling out the banner ! let it float 135 

Fond heart, when learnest thou to say .... 260 

For message of the Written Word ..... 49 

Fret not, poor soul : while doubt and fear ... 66 

From out all Nature is one common voice ... 88 

From princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed . . 43 

"Get thee hence, Satan ! " at His withering look . . iii 

Gird thy loins up, Christian soldier 361 

Give us Thy blessed peace, God of all might . . . 365 

God bless the calm and holy cheer i 

God called the nearest Angels who dwell with Him above 236 

God doth not leave His own loi 

" God is Love," the Heavens tell it 220 

" God is my strength ! " — Be this my shield . . . 229 

God might have made the earth bring forth . . . 171 

God never meant that man should scale the heavens . 292 

Good and great God ! Can I not think of Thee . . 103 

** Go thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord Who speaks . , 368 

Gracious Spirit, dwell with me ...... 207 

Happy is he, who at each gift of grace . ■ . . 312 

Hark ! through the lonely waste 16 

Have mercy on me, Lord . . . . . . -117 

Heare me, O God !........ 121 

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate . . 254 

He grew in Wisdom ! who can weigh . . . . 47 

He is gone — we heard Him say ..... 195 

He is risen, He is risen ....... 153 

He leads us on 76 



INDEX 



421 



" He loved His own unto the end " . 

Here must the Christian onward press 

His eye toward the promised land 

" Holy of Holies," awful name . 

Holy Spirit, come, we pray .... 

Holy Spirit, Truth Divine . . 

Hours, and days, and months, and years . 

How beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way 

How blessed, from the bonds of sin . 

How happy is he born and taught 

How long and deep the shadows of our Lent . 

How long, great God, how long must I . 

How long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow . 

How many a Grecian youth of old 

How often on a morning bright 

How shall I follow Him I serve 

How should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should my rhymes 

How sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd 

Hushed was the evening hymn .... 

I ask a perfect creed ...... 

I bore with thee long weary days and nights 

If as a flower doth spread and die 

If hasty hand or bitter tongue .... 

If Solomon for wisdom prayed .... 

If thou art one whose cry is Liberty . 

If thou hast lost a friend 

If we scan ........ 

I heard the voice of harpers, harping sweetly . 
I hold a joy, with which I feel .... 

I lately talked with one who strove . 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 

Immortal Love, for ever full .... 

In every place, in every hour .... 

In silence mighty things are wrought 

In the Apocalypse sublime .... 

In the wound of Thy Right Hand 

In thorny thickets blow the sweetest roses 

Into some wave, which heedless night-winds rock 

Irresolute, I stand perplext .... 

I saw two women weeping by the tomb . 

I say to thee, do thou repeat .... 

I should not care how hard my fortunes were . 

I sought for Wisdom in the morning time 

Is this a fast, to keep ..... 

Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? haste its scanty drops to 

share 

I stood and watched my ships go out 
It came upon the midnight clear 



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422 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



It happen'd on a solemn eventide 

I think if thou could' st know 

It is not Heaven alone 

It is not heavy, agonizing woe . 

I walk as one who knows that he is treading 

I walked the fields at morning's prime 

I would not ask Thee that my days 

Jairus knew it now . . 

Jerusalem, why are thy voices dumb 

Jesus, gentle Sufferer, say . 

Jesus ! my loving Lord, I know 

Jesus, still lead on . . . 

Jesus, these eyes have never seen 

Jesu, the heart's own sweetness and true light 

Jesus, we rest in Thee 

Judge me, and plead my cause, O God 

Judge not ; the workings of his brain 

King of kings, and wilt Thou deign . 

Know well, my soul, God's hand controls 

Lead us aside, we would not ever stay 

Let me count my treasures 

Let thy gold be cast in the furnace 

Life, believe, is not a dream 

Life ! I know not what thou art 

Lift high the song of praise 

Light of the better morning 

Like Israel's King, oft have I too received 

Lo, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on high 

Long have I view'd, long have I thought . 

" Look, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire 

Look up ; the rainy heavens withdraw 

Lord, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell 

Lord ! come away ..... 

Lord ! how oft shall 1 forgive . 

Lord, Thou art mine, and I am Thine 

Lord, through infinity, which lay outspread 

Lord, what am I? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing 

Lord, with what courage and delight 

" Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy " 

Love hath descended from His Throne on high 

Love hath taught me to obey .... 

Man hath a voice severe ..... 

Man is a busy thing, and he . 

Meek to suffer, strong to save .... 

Me hath He called to love Him, me hath deign'd 

Mercy and Truth my song would be . 

Mercy, my Judge, mercy, I cry 

Most High and Holy Trinity .... 



INDEX 



423 



Mother ! with us the Lord doth bide 

My God, I thank Thee, Who hast made 

My God, to keep my heart 

My heart was glad to hear their call . 

My Maker ! of Thy power the trace . 

My soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage 

My soul once had its plenteous years 

Nay, but these are breezes bright 

'Neath the full beamings of an orient sky 

" Night flies before the orient morning " 

Night turns to day when sullen darkness lowers 

Not afar from surf and wave 

Not as a fallen stone .... 

Not ashes on the head .... 

Not as He was, a houseless stranger 

Not here, not here ; not where the sparkling waters 

Nothing resting in its own completeness . 

Nought see we here as yet in full perfection 

Now are the days of humblest prayer 

Now take my heart and all that is in me . 

Now theirs was converse such as it behoves 

Now weary men are tending to their home 

O blessed Jesus ! when I see Thee bending 

O blessing, wearing semblance of a curse . 

O bright Ideals, how ye shine , 

Of God, to thy doings, a time there is sent 

Oft when of God we ask .... 

Of what an easy quick access . 

O God, Whose thunder shakes the sky 

O hallowed memories of the past 

Oh Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart 

Oh, bright and happy Olivet 

Oh, deem not they are blest alone 

O Heaven ! sweet Heaven ! the home of the blest 

Oh for the peace which floweth as a river 

Oh, give thanks to Him that made , 

Oh ! help me. Lord, to seek Thy face 

Oh sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke 

Oh that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep 

Oh ! Thou, that driest the mourner's tear 

Oh, weak are my best thoughts, and poor 

Oh, were I ever what I am sometimes 

Oh yet we trust that somehow good . 

O Lord, our Lord, in all the earth . 

O Nature ! all thy seasons please the eye 

One baptism, and one faith 

One by one the sands are flowing 

One in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine 



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424 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



On the Cross we saw Him dying 

O only source of all our light and life 

Open thyself and then look In . 

O Piety ! O heavenly Piety 

O Sacred Providence, Who from end to end 

O show me not my Saviour dying 

O Thou, the contrite sinner's Friend 

O Thou ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ! Thou Whose 

' ' Our Father " — happy he that knows 

O worshipper, who at the break of morn , 

Prayer is omnipotence descending, when . 

Priests of the Lord — let Judas warn them well 

Rahel weeping for her children . 

Rise ! for the day is passing 

Saint James was in the path of toil . 

Saviour, sprinkle many nations . 

Say, from what unknown source, mysterious Nile 

See how yon little lark is borne 

See the rivers flowing .... 

See what unbounded zeal and love . 

Sent from the ark, the dove, with "timid flight 

September's woods are clothed in darker green 

Shall I, for fear of feeble man . 

Show me the tears, the tears of tender love 

Silence ! though the flames arise and quiver 

Since o'er Thy footstool here below . 

Since trifles make the sum of human things 

Since without Thee we do no good . 

Skirting the azure of the summer sky 

Sleep, Holy Babe 

Soldier, go — but not to claim 

So Matthew left his golden gains 

Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds 

Sorrow weeps ...... 

Soul, when your flesh dissolves to dust 
Source of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul 
Sower Divine ...... 

Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers 

Spirit, exiled long from earth . 

Spirit of Christ ! Thy grace be given 

Spirit of God I descend upon my heart 

Spirit, soul and body's union 

Spring is but another birth 

" Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill 

Still evermore for some great strength we pray 

Still young and fine ! but what is still in view 

Strive ; yet I do not promise 

Strong Son of God, immortal Love . 



ways 



INDEX 



425 



Sweet Hope is soveraigne comfort of our life 

Swift o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps 

Swords of fire around us play . 

Teach me, my God and King . 

That early love of creatures, yet unmade . 

That which we dare invoke to bless . 

The blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath sunlight 

smiled 

The child leans on its parent's breast 

The days of old were days of might . 

The flower that in the lowly vale 

The glorious Sun no man can see 

The God of Nature and of Grace 

Their bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea 

The lopped tree in time may grow again . 

The Lord is King ! lift up thy voice . 

The Lord shall come in dead of night 

The more we live, more brief appear 

Then give Thy saints .... 

The Pharisee informed the Lord 

The pilot's skill how can we know 

The Poet scanned with mighty awe . 

There are no little things on earth 

There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep 

Therefore to Thee I musing turn 

There is a dwelling-place above 

There is a River, deep and broad 

There is a Sabbath won for us . 

There is a time to fast .... 

There is no night in Heaven 

There's many a happy household band 

The stately heavens, which glory doth array 

The sufferer had been heard to say . 

The sunset falls on Isaac's tent . 

The time is short . . . 

The Tree of Life in Eden stood 

The turf shall be my fragrant shrine . 

The voice of God was mighty, when it brake 

The waves, the winds of Circumstance 

The waving fields of yellow corn 

The Will Divine that woke a waiting time 

The wise men to Thy cradle-throne . 

The wish, that of the living whole 

The world is sick, and yet not unto death 

The world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain 

They are all gone into the world of light . 

They came on . 

This Book, this holy Book — on every line . 



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426 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 



This day the Church commemorates 
This did not once so trouble me 
This is true glory and renown, when God . 
Tho' nothing once, and born but yesterday 

Thou art the Way 

Thou bidd'st us " visit in distress 

Though clouds be dark and tempests brood around 

Though I am slow to trust Thee, Lord 

Thou, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt 

Thousands completely fed .... 

Three worlds there are : — the first of Sense 

Through many a far and foreign land 

Throw wide the gate, my heart 

Thy neighbour ? it is he whom thou . 

Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours . 

Time is a prince whose resistless sway 

"Tired ! " Well, what of that .... 

'Tis first the true and then the beautiful . 

'Tis not the temple's shrine .... 

'Tis not the whirlwind, o'er our fair fields sweeping 

To be thought ill of, worse than we deserve 

To Him Who for our sins was slain . 

To pray to God continually .... 

To Thy temple. Lord, or table. 

To weary hearts, to mourning homes 

True honour bides at home, and takes delight . 

Truth through the sacred volume hidden lies . 

Unanswered yet, the prayer your lips have pleaded 

Up to the hills I lift mine eyes .... 

View not forms with heedless scorn . 

Watcher, who watch'st by the bed of pain 

Watchman, what of the night .... 

We all are in one school ..... 

We cannot stay, said the winter stars 

We do not dread the darkest night . 

Weighing the steadfastness and state 

Welcome, dear feast of Lent : who loves not thee 

We seek a land of more delight 

We see the leaves fall withered from the trees . 

We walk amid a world of beauteous things 

What and if the day is breaking 

What a world with all its sorrows 

What earth appeared to Angel eyes . 

What had I been if Thou wert not . 

What is Life, Father 

What joyful harvester did ere obtain 

What men call Nature is a Thought Divine 

What mighty name did the whole earth adore . 



INDEX 



427 



What tears are these that flow so fast 

What though we bear a heavy load . 

What, what is tried in the fires of God 

When across the inward thought 

When darkness long has veil'd my mind 

When evening clouds hang clustering round the sun 

When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave 

When God at first made man , 

When is Communion nearest . 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved 

When Jordan hushed his waters still 

When man to Godlike being sprung 

When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say 

When Royal Truth, released from mortal throes 

When scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride 

When up to nightly skies we gaze 

Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain 

Where then shall hope and fear their objects find 

Who is this, with garments gory 

Who loves not knowledge? Who shall rail 

Who yonder on the desert heath 

Why art Thou not, O Saviour, here . 

Why dost thou heap up wealth which thou must quit 

Why for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn 

Why should we vex our foolish minds 

Why throbs this breast ? Why heave these piteous sighs 

Wide the compass of the world 

Widely midst the slumbering nations 

Woman of pure and heaven-born fame 

Workman of God ! oh lose not heart 

Work while it is called to-day . 

Yea, watch and wait a little while 

Ye flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright 

Ye heavens, oh haste your dews to shed 

Ye quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright 

Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord . 

You say, but with no touch of scorn . 



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PKINTED BY 

TURNBULL AND SPiiAKS 

EDINBURGH 



JUL 1 1908 



